Like A Good Wine
by betweenthetwo
Summary: "Severus Snape was exactly the kind of man a woman like Hermione Granger would never understand." Hermione begins to grapple with her status as a divorced woman. Severus wants nothing to do with it. DH and (mostly) Epilogue Compliant with a twist! INDEFINITE HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

_Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the world they live in._

_Author's Notes: This story is compliant with the DH epilogue but ignores any information provided by JK Rowling about the trio in interviews, etc. It can be viewed as AU because Snape lives, but interviews aside, I think there is room in the books for Snape to live._

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As the Hogwarts Express trundled out of sight, four friends looked at each other and let out a long sigh.

"That doesn't get any easier," Harry said, reaching down and picking up his youngest child. Lily was still pouting about having to stay home while her brothers went to school and she buried her face in his chest in frustration.

"I doubt it ever will," Ron replied, glancing back in the direction of the now vanished train wistfully and taking Hugo's hand.

"Still, we're lucky, "Hermione offered with a smile. "Imagine how much worse it must have been for our parents, not knowing what horrors were around the corner." Behind her smile lay her own maternal despair at saying goodbye to her eldest child - how did she get so old, so quickly? - but she was determined to hide her sadness until she was alone. She glanced at Hugo and his frustrated frown almost broke her heart. He was fiercely attached to Rose and she wondered how he would cope without her.

"Our lot have managed to get themselves into some rather impressive scrapes despite the relative "safety" of the times,'" Ginny added with a grin. "Just like their parents, really."

Hermione had to agree. Rose and Hugo were just like her and Ron, equal parts temper and insatiable curiosity. They had been exhausting toddlers, and now that Rose was off to school she knew her life would be both calmer and lonelier. The four friends began to move back towards the bustling center of the railway station. Hermione caught another glimpse of Draco Malfoy and his wife, and gave them a quick but friendly smile, careful that Ron didn't notice. Malfoy responded with a wink that was far friendlier than the quick nod he had given Harry. Old enmities die hard, she mused. She was secretly rather proud of herself for overcoming her childhood hatred for Malfoy and developing a rather productive working relationship with him at the Ministry.

"Off to work?" Ginny asked, and Ron and Harry nodded. Hermione shook her head with a smile.

"I took the day off. I'm heading into London to meet my mum for lunch, although it looks like I'm going to be more than a little early. It's her birthday." Hermione noticed Ron's rather poorly hidden look of surprise at that detail. He had never quite gotten his head around remembering birthdays, especially ones that didn't involve presents for him.

"Do you have time for a quick coffee with me?" Ginny asked and Hermione was more than happy to comply. As they reached the apparition point outside the station, Hermione took the keys to the car from Ron and kissed him on the cheek while Harry and Ginny embraced.

"See you soon?" she asked.

"Promise," Ron replied, pulling her in for a hug. "Gwendolyn is at her mother's next weekend for a family thing... Want to get dinner on Saturday? I'd like to talk about Rose's birthday. We could go to the Leaky Cauldron. Gwen hates it there and I've been craving it for weeks."

"It's a date." Hermione took Hugo's outstretched hand and led him to the car.

Ginny let Lily give her dad one more hug and then put her in the back of Hermione's car next to Hugo. Getting into the passenger seat she glanced warily at the gear box.

"Are you sure this is the best way to get into the city?"

"Gin, Ron may be completely nuts when it comes to a lot of things, but he is right about the usefulness of a car." Hermione told her. "Where were you thinking for coffee?"

"The little place not far from Harrods? The one we took Rose to after she had that thing done with her teeth?"

"Her braces, yes. Perfect."

* * *

Hermione considered herself very lucky. She had two beautiful, if rambunctious, children and a very successful career. She had achieved her initial professional goals - the passage of a Protection of Werewolves Act and the unionizing of the House Elves - by the end of her second year at the Ministry and had moved on to criminal defense. Her ultimate goal was to reform and then serve on the Wizengamot and she knew that if she continued to have the kind of success she had achieved so far she wouldn't be far off a judicial nomination. She had a wonderful relationship with her ex-husband, and her children had adjusted magnificently to the back-and-forth of joint custody. Her two best friends were married and unbelievably happy, as always, and the wizarding world had lived in relative peace for nineteen years. Still, Ginny's question stung with a rather unexpected potency.

"You're young - don't look at me like that, you're not forty yet - and you don't look a day over thirty. You're successful, your kids are in school... Why not start dating again?"

Hermione had to admit it was a good question. She and Ron had been divorced for four years now, separated for six. In that time she had barely pursued other men, even as Ron had wooed, dated and married Gwendolyn.

"I don't know Gin, I'm busy with work, and the kids..."

"You're thirty-eight, Hermione. You're beautiful. You're smart. You can make time, but you choose not to. Why is that?"

"You know, you're a very strange former sister-in-law, you know that?"

"There's nothing former about it. When you and Ron divorced George and I decided to keep you and ditch Ron."

Hermione laughed. She was blessed that the Weasley's - Ron included - had forgiven her asking for a divorce. George had told her they had all been expecting it for years. Even Ron hadn't looked surprised. Sometimes she wondered if she had been the last to realize she wasn't happy, couldn't be happy, in the marriage.

"I guess I'm just... scared," Hermione admitted, staring at her cappuccino. "I've only ever loved one person and that didn't work out quite as I'd dreamed." She had imagined her and Ron growing old together, watching their children marry and have children of their own. It had never occurred to her that their differences would grow rather than diminish over the years.

"Well, I could have told you when you were twelve that you and Ron wouldn't last. But that doesn't mean you're doomed to a life of chastity, Hermione. Come on, when did you last shag someone?"

"Ginny!" Hermione was scandalized. Even having kids hadn't allowed Hermione to overcome her natural prudishness. Ginny's blasé attitude toward talking about sex - in public places! - was something she would never get used to. And besides, Lily and Hugo were sitting right next to them! Although they didn't seem to be paying too much attention to the conversation, preferring instead to stare at their gingerbread cookies as if it might suddenly come alive.

"I'm just saying Hermione, Ron's not sleeping alone."

"He's married."

"He wasn't when he first started having se..."

"Stop. I don't want to know. I don't. I like Gwendolyn but that's only because I don't ever think about... that."

"You're going to have to give love another shot one day," Ginny warned. "Or you'll end up like that Arabella Figg Harry used to live next too. Loads of cats. No shagging."

Hermione laughed off her friend's warning and ordered another coffee before changing the subject to Ginny's work as a public relations manager for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It was always easier to steer the conversation to calmer waters rather than to think too much about her rapidly approaching status as a divorcé-for-life.

That night as she sat up in bed editing her latest policy proposal and sipping camomile tea, Hermione thought about Ginny's advice. She was lonely. Not having Rose around was already hard, and she had only been accustomed to having her four nights a week. Hugo was with his dad for the night. Her townhouse seemed eerily quiet. She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. She was just depressed - as any mother would be - after sending her daughter off to school. And she was a little jealous too, if she admitted it. Despite the troubles of her latter years at the school, she still looked back fondly on her time at Hogwarts. It had been so easy then, in a lot of ways. Harry and Ron had been at her side every day for seven years. Now she felt as Ginny must have then... excluded. It wasn't their fault. Ginny and Harry were married, and Ron was Ginny's brother. Of course she felt cut off; she was not quite Ginny's sister-in-law, no longer Ron's wife.

She sighed and placed her papers on her nightstand before switching off her bedside lamp. Despite what she had told Ginny, she had tried to date since her split with Ron. In the first months after their divorce, spurred on by Ron's growing relationship with Gwendolyn, she had agreed to go on several dates with co-workers and friends-of-friends. Some of the men had even been quite charming. But nothing had ever felt right. Nothing had ever overcome the same problem she had felt with Ron. The feeling that there was something missing, that she was compensating for something with every smile, every gasp. She could never put her finger on it - it wasn't just a matter or intelligence, or looks, or humor. It was something of all three and by the end of two years of unsuccessful dating, Hermione had come to the conclusion that maybe she just wasn't supposed to find love.

As she lay in the dark, Hermione wondered how one conversation with Ginny could keep her awake at night after she had resolved herself against these feelings. There was no man for her out there. Yet, as she pulled the covers around her, Hermione couldn't help but wish that there was. That somewhere out there there could be a man she could love with the passion she knew she possessed. A man who could reawaken the energy and bravado she had felt during her school years.

* * *

"Fancy a drink?"

If you had asked Neville Longbottom twenty years ago if he would ever utter those words to Severus Snape he would have been equal parts terrified and shocked. But Neville Longbottom was not the same nervous boy who had struggled through five years of Potions lessons with the infamous Professor Snape. Neville had killed Nagini, and he felt that some of his reticence and shyness had died too that day. It was hard to be shy when you were a war hero, and it seemed foolish to be nervous when so many people had died and he had lived. Given what he had been through in the final year of the war, Neville was no stranger to struggle. And for Neville, Severus Snape was the epitome of a man who had struggled. So for the past five years, he had made it something of a mission to befriend the potions master.

"Really Longbottom, drinking on a Tuesday night? Isn't that a little premature?"

Snape's voice had never regained its smooth luster, but it was still unmistakably dripping with disdain. Neville had learned not to be put off by his tone of voice.

"Fine words coming from you. One of my first years said she saw you taking a swig from a flask in class."

"Twenty galleons says it was Rose Granger." He had noticed a particularly knowing look in the young girls' eye that was a little too familiar for his tastes.

"Granger-Weasley. And yes." Neville took Severus's conversation as an affirmative response and stepped through the floo into his colleague's office. "I see you've started drinking already." The bottle of Ogden's open on Snape's desk was almost empty.

"You know I prefer drinking your whiskey, Longbottom. Give it here." Neville had been brewing infused firewhiskey for years and had quite perfected the art. Snape couldn't resist its smooth taste - even if it did come with hours of conversation attached. He considered it a small price to pay; at least the boy had improved remarkably since his days in school.

"Have you had a class with Harry's boy yet?" Neville asked. Two years ago he wouldn't have dared ask the question. The arrival of another "James Potter" at Hogwarts had not sat well with Severus initially. But the boy had proven himself utterly abysmal at potions and had no sign of his grandmother's eyes. He had Ginny Weasley's features, and while his temperament might have resembled his grandfather rather than his father, the fact that Snape saw nothing of Lily Evans in him had seemed to come as a huge relief to the former spy. Apart from the occasional insult about his father's fame, Snape largely left the boy alone.

"Ah yes, Albus." The name felt strange on Snape's tongue. It was such an uncommon name, he had rather hoped he would never have to utter it to anyone but the old man's portrait. He preferred not to think about the child's middle name. "Not a complete imbecile. Not a Gryffindor either, which is a relief. I wonder how his parents feel about Ravenclaw."

"Probably much the same as Scorpius' parents feel about him being a Hufflepuff."

"Draco flooed me earlier today. Wanted to know what the hell the hat was thinking. As if I knew. All I do is watch the little fools until that hat sends them their respective ways. Then I only have to deal with a quarter of them." Snape snorted and picked up his glass. "Although, I do wish Lucius was alive to see his grandson sorted into Hufflepuff." Lucius had died two years previously when one of the few remaining dark traps in his basement had gone off at the wrong moment. Snape was loathe to admit that he missed the arrogant git's company. Lucius had been one of the few left from his youth who wasn't a completely evil son of a bitch. "You know, Longbottom, it pains me to say this, but I think this might be your best batch yet," he said, swirling the whiskey in his glass and admiring its amber glow.

"I agree. I'm thinking of sending a bottle on to Susan and Dean. They just had their fourth child."

"Lord have mercy, will your classmates never cease procreating?"

"Beats me. I honestly don't know where half of the them find the time to have children. Dean is an Auror now, and Susan is running Madame Malkin's."

"Potter managed to have three while being an Auror, a Ministry bigwig and a royal pain in the arse. It seems they were all far more multi-talented than I gave them credit for." Snape took a huge swig from his glass and closed his eyes as the searing heat deadened the pain in his neck and vocal cords for a brief, blissful moment.

"He did save your..."

"Not. Another. Word." Snape's eyes shot open and gave Neville a withering glare. "These "conversations" have ground rules, Longbottom."

Neville suppressed a smile and poured his companion another glass. He broke the "ground rules" of their conversations with increasing frequency these days. It was nineteen years since Harry Potter had saved Snape's life on the floor of the Shrieking Shack and he had yet to speak a word about the event. Rumor had it that Harry had used muggle first-aid techniques to revive him. Just the thought of Harry giving mouth-to-mouth to the terror of their childhood brought an involuntary grin to his face.

"You know Longbottom, I've never asked. Why haven't you gotten around to procreating yet?" Nothing but a desire to end the Harry Potter line of conversation could have brought Snape to ask that particular question but he was a desperate man. In the years following the war he had been forced to work hard to regain his reputation as a cruel, unfriendly git with his now uncomfortably hero-worshipping students. Any reference to his Order of Merlin, or his rather unfortunate rescue, needed to be nipped in the bud.

"Er... Never met the right woman, I suppose."

"What about the Lovegood girl? Didn't she live with you for a few years?" Snape couldn't believe he remembered anything about Longbottom's love life, or that he was actually asking questions about it.

"Yeh, she did. She wanted to see the world, I suppose, and I'm pretty happy here." That was the sad truth of it really. No dramatic exit. "Just different goals, in the end."

"This school isn't exactly condusive to relationships for the staff." Snape sipped at his whiskey. "Get that look off your face, I'm not referring to myself. Look at Sprout. Minerva. Filius. Hagrid had to go half way across Europe to find love with a giant for pity's sake."

"I guess we're a pretty sad lot."

"You could say that. I for one am perfectly happy living the life of the lonely bachelor, Longbottom." There was a smugness in his voice that suggested he believed what he was saying. "But you're young, aren't you?"

"Thirty eight."

"Fuck, has it really been that long since you were in school? That explains all the children, I suppose."

"Feeling old, Snape?"

"Sod off. I'm not above taking your whiskey and kicking you out." He was feeling old.

"I have least a hundred years left in me Longbottom and I don't look a day over forty five."

It was true, Neville noticed. While he himself had aged in the past twenty years, Severus had not.

"You're right! How do you.... Hold on, do you use anti-aging potions?"

Snape scoffed and shot him a look that suggested he was out of his mind.

"It is a little known fact that Nagini's venom contained Rhodiola Rosea. In trying to kill me, the Dark Lord assured me eternal youth."

"Golden Root?" Neville screwed up his face in confusion. "But how... Surely Golden Root is far too common to have such a potent affect...?"

"I'm pulling your leg, Longbottom. Do try to keep your wits about you. I look the way I do because I've looked forty years of age since I was twenty-five. Eighteen years of spying took a toll on my body that the past twenty years have not. You just imagine I look younger than I am because when you were my student you assumed I was ancient. I was only thirty eight when you left school." He felt unusually verbose this evening, but he had been drinking since early morning. Nothing seemed to soothe the pain in his vocal cords like firewhiskey and he was sick and tired of the experimental healing balms various "fans" kept sending his way.

Neville nodded slowly.

"You know, you're right. I never really put two and two together and realized you were younger than my parents. That must mean you're only..."

"I think I've had enough of this conversation. Why don't we talk about the ingredients I'll be needing next week. Do you have a quill?"

Neville shook his head as he reached into his robes and found his inked stained quill and note paper. Severus was really rather predictable. Every evening he would allow a certain amount of casual conversation but insisted on ending the night on a professional note lest Neville think they might be friends.

***


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

_Author's Notes: I need a really high quality beta reader. I have never been able to successfully get a story past the folks at Ashwinder and I'd really like to. If you're interested, and good - and they have alarmingly high standards of where commas should and should not be - let me know._

* * *

A month later, surrounded by irate Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, concerns about her love life were the farthest thing from Hermione's mind.

"You told us they would not curtail our freedom of movement," Firenze stated, nostrils flaring. Several other Centaurs stamped their hooves in agreement. "And yet humans from your Ministry come here and tell us we can no longer feed in the west quarter of our forest."

"They should not have told you that. You have rights that they cannot infringe upon; the Magical Creatures Act protects you." The Centaurs nodded in agreement. "But I am not your lawyer. I work in criminal defense now. Mildred Muckridge is head of Magical Creatures." At the name of her successor, the group started stamping their feet once more. Clearly Mildred was not doing her job. That revelation was both surprising and frustrating. It looked like she would be seeing a lot more mornings like this one, if that was the case.

"You swore to fight for our rights, Hermione," Firenze said solemnly, staring at her with his large, earnest gaze. "You cannot abandon now us now when the Ministry seeks to undo all of the good work you have done."

"I will speak with Mildred, I promise."

"That is not enough. They will not listen to anyone but you."

Having fought for recognition all her life, a small part of Hermione was thrilled by the compliment Firenze paid her, and the faith the Centaurs had in her. Mostly, however, she was frustrated that they didn't understand that this wasn't her job anymore. She was a lawyer, not a lobbyist.

"I will speak with Mildred," she repeated, raising her voice to silence their unhappy hooves, "And if matters do not improve I will bring this to the Minister himself." That at least earned her a few cheers. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised my daughter I would visit her today, so I am going to the castle now." It was always best to alert the Centaurs to her movements. They had the sentience of humans, but they did tend to spook like horses if she failed to warn them of her departure. She bid Firenze farewell, but as she moved away, she heard hooves behind her.

"Madam Granger?" She turned to find Victone, one of the younger Centaurs behind her. "Could you take a message for me to the castle?" Hermione nodded her acquiescence. "Could you tell Professor Longbottom that the foxgloves are in bloom? He asked me to inform him, but with our movement so limited..."

"I will tell him Victone." The Centaur nodded once before galloping back into the forest after the others. Hermione let out a sigh. It had been a long morning. She had received five urgent memos on her desk within five minutes of arriving at work, and the patronus of both Professor McGonagall and the new Care of Magical Creatures professor to warn her of a potentially explosive situation in the Forbidden Forest. Everyone seemed to think that her current work - defending accused criminals before the Wizengamot - was insignificant if even the slightest stirring happened in the realm of Magical Creatures. Protecting their rights had been her life's goal and she was still entirely committed to the cause, but few of her colleagues or former clients seemed to realize that she had new clients who also needed her assistance, or other obligations that made it difficult to rush off to her old school at the drop of a hat.

Of course, she was thrilled at any term-time opportunity to see her daughter and she had made sure to stop by Hogsmeade on her way to pick up some chocolate treats for her. She was eager in to check in on Rose, whose letters had remained full of excitement, but who had an uncanny ability to hide her emotions behind chatty words and a bright smile. Her daughter was more like her than like her father, and Hermione remembered how difficult she had found her first few weeks at school.

When she arrived at the main doors, she was surprised and delighted to spot Neville almost immediately.

"Oi, Hermione! What a surprise!" He grabbed her in a huge hug that lifted her off the ground and made her feel half her age. Neville had aged well, his teenage pudginess turning into muscle over the years. Not to mention, his imposing height of well over six feet, he made Hermione feel like she was just eighteen again.

"I had to address a problem between the Ministry and the Centaurs," she explained as he set her down. "And I thought I would take the chance to visit Rose. And it is wonderful to see you!"

"You will be delighted to know, Miss Granger, that your daughter is equally as impertinent and precocious as her mother." The unmistakable voice of Severus Snape drawled from behind Neville, and for the first time Hermione realized that her friend wasn't alone. Neville moved away to allow Snape to enter the conversation and Hermione was surprised at how well he looked. He didn't seem a day older than when she had last seen him, almost five years ago. If anything, he looked better rested, and the scar on his neck was barely visible.

"Professor Snape," she said with a smile, smoothing down her robes. Unlike Neville, she had not had the chance to replace their teacher-student dynamic with a more equitable relationship and so she immediately found herself nervous. "It is good to see you, Sir."

"The feeling is mutual." His voice suggested it was anything but. "Did you manage to calm the Centaurs or should we expect a full blown uprising by dinner?"

"I need to speak with my successor at the Ministry," she told him in what she hoped was an even and adult voice. "And hopefully the situation will be resolved shortly."

"I doubt it." He looked as if he couldn't be more bored to see her or hear about her work.

"And why is that?" Her hackles were immediately raised by any suggestion that she might not be able to do her job. Years of striving to impress the one teacher who did not think she was perfect in every way had ingrained a rather unfortunate habit of getting defensive at even the slightest of comments from her former Professor.

"Miss Granger, do not lead me to believe you are still as naive as you were when you were in school? It would hardly be befitting of a woman of your age." The all-too-familiar sneer on his face only deepened her frustration. And the unmistakable slight against her age almost sent her into a fit.

"Now, now Severus, Hermione doesn't need to talk business. She's here to visit her daughter! Hermione, I must say, Rose is the absolute image of you. And so bright!" Neville shot Severus a quick look of disapproval and put his arm around his friend, shepherding her towards the Great Hall where her daughter was undoubtedly having lunch. "Let's leave Severus to his meeting with Professor McGonagall and you and I can find Rose." With one quick warning look over his shoulder at the potions master, Neville escorted Hermione away from Severus so smoothly that she didn't even realize she hadn't said goodbye. "Don't mind him, Hermione," Neville said. "He's a big fan of yours really, he just can't bring himself to show his more human side to anyone."

With those perplexing words, Neville pushed open the doors of the Great Hall and one hundred eyes landed on her with an audible gasp. Hermione heard whispered cries of "It's her! It's Hermione Granger! Harry Potter's friend!" from almost all sides and then the absolutely beautiful sound of her daughter's voice shouting "Mum!" as her daughter rushed into her open arms. As she kissed her daughter's head, welcoming the feel of her tiny frame against her, her encounter with Severus Snape disappeared from her mind completely.

"It is so good to see you," she told her with a bright smile. Her smile wavered slightly when she felt her daughter grip her even tighter, even as Hermione moved to let her go. "I brought chocolate for you," she whispered into Rose's hair. "And you and I are going to find somewhere quiet and have a good chat." At the news that her mother wasn't about to disappear immediately, Rose relaxed her hug and looked up at her mother with big, baleful eyes. Hermione was immediately grateful for the Centaur emergency that had called her to Hogwarts that morning. It seemed Rose wasn't as well adjusted as her letters suggested.

"Come on," she said with a big smile, eager to soothe her daughter's nerves. "Let's find somewhere better to talk." She took her daughter's hand and straightened up. Turning around, she ran smack into that last person she needed to see again, Severus Snape. She almost lost her balance, but steadied herself as Snape looked on with a visible sneer.

"Miss Granger, sorry as I am to interrupt this touching scene, Minerva has asked me to escort you and your daughter to her office immediately. It seems the younger Miss Granger is exactly like her mother - in trouble already." Hermione felt Rose's grip on her hand tighten. Drawing herself up to her full height - still far too petite to be imposing to a man like Professor Snape - she nodded quietly and ushered her daughter out of the Great Hall. She gave Rose's hand a quick squeeze before replying.

"Certainly, Professor Snape," she said calmly as the Hall doors closed behind them causing a chorus of disappointed sighs from their captive audience. "Although I do not need your help finding the Headmistress's office."

"It seems I have no choice but to accompany you. Minerva has requested my presence at this meeting also." His voice expressed his frustration at the inconvenience. Hermione resolved to pay no further attention to him.

Hermione gave her daughter a reassuring look; if Rose was as similar to herself as Professor Snape had suggested, she doubted her daughter was in any real trouble at all.

The three of them walked in silence through the corridors, with Snape occasionally scowling at passing students, who visibly quickened their step at the sight of their feared teacher. Hermione tried not to be offended by her former professor's easy friendship with Neville, when he wouldn't even look at her. She wasn't his student anymore! She was almost forty years of age and she had spent the past six years of her career helping men just like him - men who had been viewed as killers by the wizarding world - fight for their freedom. How could he not appreciate that, even if she had been too young to help him when he had stood before the Wizengamot nineteen years ago?

She hadn't realized she was staring at him until he turned around and shot her a particularly stinging sneer.

Snape mumbled the password ("Glenmorangee") and they ascended quickly into the lush, red office of Minerva McGonagall.

* * *

After the usual expression of delight at seeing her, and remark on how the years had flown (which earned an eye roll from Professor Snape), Minerva got down to business. By now, Rose was white as a sheet, and no manner of soothing words or confident smiles from her mother could bring the color back to her cheeks.

"It is very fortunate you could join us here today, Ms Granger. It seems Rose has been in something of an altercation with one of Severus' students." That explained his presence, at least. "Amalia Thorpe. A cousin of Greggory Goyle, actually."

Why wasn't Hermione surprised? She looked at Rose questioningly.

"What happened Rose?" she asked softly. Her daughter just shook her head. Snape snorted.

"How bizarre for anyone related to Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley not to leap at any invitation to speak," he drawled. Hermione ignored him.

"It's ok, Rose. You can tell me and we'll tell Professor McGonagall together." Snape raised an eyebrow at Miss Granger's transformation into a clucking hen. The younger girl whispered into her mother's ear solemnly as her mother stoked her back.

Miss Granger was both different and the same, he noticed. She was no longer eleven years old, hand waving in the air. She was a grown woman, much in the same way Neville was a grown man. And she was also a mother, and one who chose to wear her maternal instinct on her sleeve. He had read of her exploits in the Daily Prophet and had assumed her the consummate career woman, particularly after she divorced that imbecile Weasley. He had not expected her easy relationship with her daughter, or the way her offspring looked at her as if she could solve any problem in the world. He should, of curse, have expected it. She had mothered Weasley and Potter since the day they became friends. It was strange to see her now, grown-up, so comfortable in her own skin. She did not need to wave her hand in the air to command attention now.

No, seeing her next to her daughter, it seemed that she had passed the know-it-all torch on to Rose. The comparison wasn't entirely fair, he conceded, as the younger Miss Granger was far less obnoxious than her mother had been at eleven. She probably had less to prove; being the daughter of two celebrated war heroes must be easier than being a Muggle-born in a strange and prejudiced world. But Rose did have her mother's brains, and unfortunately, her father's temper.

"Rose tells me Miss Thorpe was calling her names because..." Snape was surprised at her nervous pause. "... because her father and I are no longer married." Rose nodded in confirmation. Severus sighed to himself. The theatrics of youth were more than his temperament could endure. As much as he wanted to be surprised at the behavior of one of his Slytherins, he couldn't bring himself to expect much more of Amalia Thorpe.

"Severus, it seems we will need to speak with Miss Thorpe once more." McGonagall's voice had a smugness to it that he did not appreciate. She was, of course, delighted to discover that her favorite Gryffindor's daughter was innocent, even if the child herself was a Ravenclaw.

"Of course," he said. "Perhaps Miss Granger would benefit from a detention, Headmistress? She needs to learn not to lose her temper at every foolish insult."

For a moment Hermione thought he meant her and she was immediately transported back to her school days and the shame such words would have brought her. Shaking herself back to her senses, she realized he meant Rose.

"Granger-Weasley, Professor Snape," she reminded him levelly.

"Ah yes, how could anyone but Ron Weasley be the father of a child with such vibrant hair." His tone managed to turn the adjective into an insult and Hermione felt her pulse quicken. All too painful memories of his ruthless comments about her teeth in her fourth year flew to mind.

"That's enough, Severus," Minerva warned with a tired look. "You may return to your classes and I will let Hermione and Rose continue their afternoon without interruption." Snape nodded curtly, shot Hermione one final sneer and then swept from the room.

"Old habits die hard, Hermione," Minerva said, noticing her former pupil's furrowed brow. "It took Severus five years to consider Neville Longbottom anything but a former nuisance and he was a fellow member of staff. I'm sure seeing Rose in his classroom has brought back... memories."

"Memories?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"Now, now Hermione. Lets not pretend I'm ignorant to the relationship Severus had with the three of you when you were students. Stealing from his stores? Setting him alight?"

Rose gaped at her mother, who blushed scarlet.

"We all knew. Severus too," Minerva continued. "You wounded his pride, Hermione. Severus' emotions have always had rather impressive stamina."

Hermione nodded somberly. It would not do to talk of Professor Snape's past around her daughter. Stories of the war trickled into her children's lives slowly, if she had any say in it. Only with the hindsight of parenthood could she appreciate her mother's claim that she had been too young to even dream of the horrors she had faced.

The usual pang of sympathy sprang into her chest as Hermione contemplated Snape's personal horrors, and how far they outstripped her own. But Professor Snape the man was far less easy to sympathize with than Severus Snape the love-lorn double spy. For now, she was content for Rose only to know Professor Snape the teacher, even if he was an unnecessarily cruel git. Hermione knew she would have more sympathy for him if he didn't insist on verbally abusing her daughter. She could forgive his treatment of her - as Professor McGonagall's words had shown, she may have deserved some of his wrath - but her maternal instincts would not allow her to forgive any slight against Rose or Hugo.

"If you don't mind, I think I'd like to talk to Rose," she said, emerging from her thoughts. Professor McGonagall nodded and waved her favorite former pupil away with a smile. Rose needed her mother now, Minerva would have plenty of time to coax Hermione back into her office for tea and catching up at a later date. "You are excused from classes for the afternoon, Miss Granger-Weasley. Be sure to get your homework from your classmates."

"Of course." Rose had at least regained her voice and gave the Headmistress a small smile, eerily reminiscent of her mother at eleven years of age. "Thank you Professor McGonagall."

Minerva could understand Severus' mixed feelings toward the child. Aside from her flaming red hair, Rose was the image of her mother. She was bright, precocious and fragile, just as Hermione had been before she had found a place for herself with Potter and Weasley. Minerva hoped she would find cohorts soon, for her sake. She also hoped Severus would get past the twenty year grudge he had against Hermione Granger. He and Potter had arrived at a civil relationship, and she knew Hermione and Draco worked well together at the Ministry. For a man in his fifties, Severus Snape could be positively childish and he was doing himself no favors, cutting himself off from someone like Hermione who had always seen the good in him.

***


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

_A/N: A slightly shorter chapter, but I had a lot of fun writing it. _

* * *

After their meeting with Professor McGonagall, Hermione took Rose down to the lake to talk about Amalia Thorpe. Divorce was still uncommon in the wizarding world, a fact that Hermione had been rather ignorant of when she had first considered ending her marriage. Quick research had shown the rates at less than one in nine, and Hermione had agonized over the stigma divorcing Ron would attach to her children. Rose had been seven when the divorce had been finalized, and only five when she and Ron had separated. Hermione had worried that the divorce would be much harder on her than Hugo. Hugo was just like Ron, easy going and unexpectedly quick to recover from that kind of situation, and also young enough not to fully understand what was going on.

Hermione's concerns, however, seemed rather unfounded. Rose hadn't been as upset by Amalia Thorpe's comments about divorce as she had been by the fact that the girl had insulted her parents at all. Growing up with two thirds of the wizarding world's most famous trio as parents had instilled in her a fierce pride for being the daughter of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. While they were still her parents, and often uncool and irritating, they were also heroes and Rose couldn't stand by and let them be insulted, no matter how much trouble it got her in. Hermione had laughed at her daughter's righteous anger and gave thanks that Rose hadn't told that version of events while Snape was in the room. She wasn't sure he could have handled hearing her daughter defend the honor of two of Professor Snape's least favorite people in the world. With a hug and some chocolates, Hermione had convinced Rose to ignore any future comments about her parents rather than fighting back. She had managed to escape Hogwarts before her daughter remembered to ask about the time she had set Professor Snape's robes on fire, or robbed from his storeroom. She didn't care to inspire her youngest child to be as mischievous as she had been at her age.

* * *

_Dear Neville,_

_I'm sorry I didn't get to see you again before I left - Rose was called to Professor McGonagall's office because of a dispute between her and Amalia Thorpe - do you know her? -over, of all things, Ron and me being divorced. Professor Snape was more than happy to attend the meeting and insult me at every opportunity, but Professor McGonagall seems to think I hurt his feelings when we were in school and he's just wounded by that. Can you imagine? Anyway, by the time we sorted it out and I talked to Rose, it was almost dinner and I had promised to meet Harry after work for a quick drink._

_The main reason I'm writing is that I forgot to mention to you that one of the Centaurs - Victone - asked me to let you know that the foxgloves in the forest were in bloom. I hope I get the message to you in time! I know they have a short season in bloom, and I feel like a total idiot for not seeking you out after the meeting to tell you._

_I'd love to see you soon - let me know when the next Hogsmeade weekend is and I'll get Harry and the others together to meet you there for a butterbeer!_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

"A love letter, Longbottom?" Severus drawled, raising his eyebrow at the note in Neville's hands. Severus had noticed the Ministry owl drop the letter on Longbottom's plate and couldn't help his curiosity.

"Not quite, Severus. Hermione was just owling me to pass on a message from Victone about our foxgloves."

"Are they in bloom?" Severus' interest was piqued. He and Longbottom had been awaiting the arrival of the foxgloves for several days. Neville wanted to show his class the plant's life cycle, and Severus needed to harvest them for a particularly trying potion he was eager to experiment with.

"As of yesterday." Neville glanced over the letter one more time before folding it and placing it in his robes.

"Trust Miss Granger to keep a useful fact like that to herself." In all honesty, Severus was more pleased by the opportunity to insult the great Miss Granger than annoyed by her failure to owl Neville earlier.

"She was worried about her daughter. Did you really insult Hermione after I left yesterday?"

"She told you that, did she?" Severus smirked. It was always good to hear that he could still cut a former student down to size. "I may have said something about her brat's hair, if that counts?"

Neville shook his head and tried not to smile. Cruel as Severus was, it was hard not to laugh at his barbs once you knew him.

"There's no need to be cruel to her, you know," Neville told him. "She's still so brilliant, and besides, she defended you non-stop for seven years to Harry and Ron."

Snape just raised an eyebrow. He didn't care to think about Miss Granger at all, let alone hear that she had defended his honor to Potter and Weasley. If she had had that much faith in him, she never would have stunned him in her third year, or left him to die in the Shrieking Shack. The girl was all talk; it was easy to say she trusted him, but much harder to actually fight for him. No, Hermione Granger was no different to anyone else who had doubted him in the final years before the Dark Lord fell. He didn't fault her for that, of course, just as he didn't fault Minerva for calling him a coward. He faulted her for pretending otherwise; for claiming to see the best in him when her actions said otherwise. She always was a sanctimonious little brat.

"I can _assure_ you, Longbottom, that I was not _cruel_ to Miss Granger. I wouldn't waste the energy on her. I merely failed to pander to her every whim as every other member of the staff has done since she was eleven years of age." If his tone was unnecessarily harsh, it was only because he disliked having his breakfast this disrupted with conversation about a former nuisance.

One of the great things about Neville Longbottom, Snape thought to himself, was his innate ability to know exactly when to change the subject. Sensing his companion's frustration, Neville steered the conversation on to their inevitable expedition out to the forest that afternoon with Neville's sixth years and Severus found himself shrugging off the foul temper the mention of Hermione Granger's "goodness" had brought on.

* * *

Hermione was utterly exhausted. She had spent the past two days in Mildred Muckridge's office, coaching the girl through the next steps in the Centaur situation and, it appeared, helping the girl through a nervous breakdown. As she bid the frazzled young woman goodbye she made a mental note never to let the Ministry pick her successor for her. No, the next time she would make appointing the person herself a condition of her departure. She had also been faced with her own work, of course, and several clients particularly irate that they had been forced to deal with Draco Malfoy in her absence. That had made her smile, of course. Draco was an excellent barrister, but his people skills left a lot to be desired.

"Don't you look wonderful this morning," Draco drawled as she plodded past him on her way to the kitchen.

"Don't start, Draco."

"No, honestly, Granger. Have you done something to your hair? It looks... voluminous."

"Hilarious." She hadn't had time for her usual morning ritual of two bottles of Sleakeasys. "Do you need something?" He was hovering outside her office with an obnoxious grin on his face.

"Only to tell you how lovely you look. Oh, and to tell you that Potter floo'ed. He needs you to floo him back."

"Did he say why?" she asked, pouring herself a coffee and eyeing the cover of the Daily Prophet absently.

"Potter and I aren't exactly confidants, Granger. I didn't ask."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm sick of you men and your ridiculously long grudges," she told him, a little sharper than she had intended.

"Whose wand is up your..." At the look on his co-worker's face Draco stopped himself. He loved irritating Hermione, but he wasn't in the mood to be hexed that particular morning. "...Nose?

Hermione couldn't help it. She giggled. Sleep deprivation and frustration combined to form giddiness and she stood their kitchen giggling uncontrollably while Draco just looked at her with a smirk on his face. Draco had become a very unexpected friend and while he pushed her too far on occasion, his sense of humor and complete disdain for almost everyone he met never failed to make her laugh.

"I know I'm hilarious, Granger, but really... is that coffee coming out of your nose?"

Hermione swatted at him with her Daily Prophet before taking a few deep breaths and calming herself down.

"So go on, spill. Who has your feathers ruffled?"

"Your godfather, actually. Arrogant git that he is," Hermione conceded, her good humor dampening. "He had the nerve to insult Rose's hair. And he suggested I couldn't handle the situation with the centaurs. Honestly!"

Draco couldn't help himself. He dissolved into laughter, shaking his head all the while. He was inordinately fond of his godfather, and he rather imagined he knew Granger pretty well after twenty five years, and he could just imagine any interaction between the two of them being utterly priceless. He could just picture Granger rising to any comment Severus made, regardless of how accurate or cruel it was.

"What's so funny?" Hermione demanded, handing him a cup of coffee with a little more force than was needed.

"It's just... I just can't believe that after all this time you still take him seriously." Draco was almost doubled over with laughter.

Hermione was baffled. Take him seriously? He was the most serious person she had ever known!

"Granger, he's just... that's just how he is. He talks to _me_ that way and he's my godfather! Anyway, it's not as if you three were ever particularly nice to him, were you?" Draco wiped tears from his eyes as he stopped laughing. Granger sure was a hoot to work with. Her tempers and her bizarre belief that everyone who didn't fawn over her hated her made her quite the office buddy. Not to mention she was actually good at her job, which made her something of an anomaly at the Ministry.

"Are you serious?" Hermione was stunned. She had never thought about it that way before. Did Snape really treat everyone the way he treated her, Ron and Harry?

"Of course I am. Maybe he does still hold some of that stuff at school against you, but really, even if he didn't, he's always going to be a prickly bastard. It's part of his charm."

Hermione hmfphed at the idea that Severus Snape could have charm.

"Besides, I insulted your hair not five minutes ago and you didn't get in a tizzy about that," he reminded her. "Give Severus a break. You're, what, forty two? Aren't you too old for this?" He grinned at the look of fury on her face that was quickly replaced by a reluctant smile. Baiting Granger was by far the best thing about this job, which had been the last thing he expected when they had been assigned to the same department three years ago.

"I don't know how I put up with you," Hermione mused, pushing her confusion and frustration out of her mind. "Do you have to drug Astoria to stop her from killing you?"

"Hilarious." Draco drawled, turning to head back into the main office with his coffee in hand.

"Oh, and Draco?" Hermione called from the kitchen as she placed a quick cleaning charm on her coffee cup. "If I'm forty-two then so are you."

It was sometimes hard for both of them to reconcile their easy - if fiery - friendship with the antagonism of their schooldays. While she and Draco had never hated each other quite as much as Draco and say, Harry, had, they had never even been civil to each other at Hogwarts. She almost smiled when she remembered the insults they had thrown at each other over the years, and wondered how the same barbs about her hair and her love life could make her smile now, when they had almost pushed her to tears twenty years ago. Part of her wanted to chalk it all up to maturity - while not quite forty-two, they were still much, much older than they had been - she had to admit that most of their easy banter stemmed not from their age but from simply understanding that neither was as harsh or ill-intentioned as they might seem at first. She could admit now that she had been a righteous know-it-all at times, just as Draco could see that his behavior towards Harry had stemmed from jealousy and bitterness. Age had given them a perspective that they could have found at eighteen if either of them had just looked hard enough.

Draco's words about Professor Snape sprung to mind._ Was_ Snape just a less charming, darker version of her co-worker? She shook her head. The comparison did not even begin to fit, even if the basic concept was the same. She had misjudged both of them consistently over the years - and, she remembered, defended both against Harry and Ron's suspicions - and neither had particularly cared for her. Just as Draco had meant all his well-placed insults in school, so too had Professor Snape. And while both had worked for the Order of the Phoenix (Draco taking a little longer to find the light), neither had particularly cared for the people they risked their lives to save. But Professor Snape was unflinching in his attitude towards her. Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, but he wasn't nearly as close-minded as people believed. When they had been assigned to the same office they had initially clashed, but he had been willing to give her a chance and by the end of their first year, they had struck up an easy rapport. Draco had forgiven her behavior at school, and she had forgiven his. Professor Snape was not one for forgiveness and neither was he open minded. He was perfectly happy to hate her for their rest of their lives.

Draco was right that she bristled at comments from Snape that would have made her smile from anyone else. But he wasn't right that Snape's insults were a part of his charm. Troubled past or no troubled past, potions stores or no potions stores, he had no place insulting her daughter.

"Do you plan on getting any work done today Granger or should I just tell McKinnion you called in sick?" Draco's sarcastic voice from the office brought her back to reality. She placed the now-shining cup back in the cupboard before strolling back into the office, offering her co-worker nothing more than a raised eyebrow.

No matter what the similarities between Draco and his godfather, Hermione knew that Draco respected her intellect and thought highly of her children. Professor Snape, on the other hand, had little regard for either. If nineteen years at the Ministry had taught Hermione anything, it was that it was a waste of time to seek the approval of people whose opinion of her had been formed before she had even opened her mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Authors Notes: In which our heroes find themselves talking about and thinking of each other. Neither is particularly happy about it.**

**Another chapter without any interaction between Hermione and Severus, but I promise their next encounter will be worth the wait.

* * *

**

In the months following her divorce, Hermione purchased a townhouse in central London. While she knew that apparition and floo powder allowed her the luxury of living anywhere in the country, she had grown attached to London during her time at the Ministry. Besides, a cottage in the country seemed a rather depressing place to begin her life as a divorcé. She wanted the children to be close to their father, and to their school friends (Hermione had insisted on muggle primary school, much to Ron's chagrin) when they were with her. She had spotted the "For Sale" notice in Hampstead the day her divorce papers had been finalized and had taken it as a sign.

The townhouse was big enough for three, but cozy enough that she didn't feel terribly alone when her children were away. Unlike the house they had shared in Kensington, the townhouse had no sign of the Weasley clutter that Molly Weasley had managed to bring. She kept the design sparse and elegant, a metaphor for the class and dignity she hoped to bring into her new single life. Rose's room was blue and yellow, with an enchanted ceiling and bookshelves covering the walls. Hugo's was red and gold, charmed train sets climbing the walls and covering the floor. She had almost broken her neck several times while picking up after her youngest.

But it was the living room that Hermione cherished most. In Kensington, their living room had been a flurry of floo powder, Quidditch magazines and Ron's shoes. The carpet had been perpetually in need of a good cleaning charm and the volume on their enchanted television (a wedding gift from Arthur) had always been far too high. Her new living room had polished wood floors and cream couches, drapes and walls. Molly had vetoed her desire to paint the old living room cream, telling her it was a ridiculous color to have in a family room; that the children would ruin it within a month. Having lived with Hugo and Rose in the townhouse for five years, Hermione knew it was Ron who would have posed the problem for the cream walls. She loved him dearly, but tidiness and even cleanliness was not his strong point. Living alone had allowed her, finally, to decorate her home to her specifications and she loved the freedom her cream walls epitomized. Her living room had also become her favorite place for entertaining Ginny whenever she could visit.

Three months after the incident at Hogwarts with the Centaurs, Ginny sat on Hermione's spotlessly clean, cream couch, eyebrow's raised, waiting for Hermione to deny her claim.

"I do have male friends!" Hermione protested. Ginny's assertion that she didn't even make an effort to spend time around men struck her as ridiculous. "There's Harry..."

"Married. To me." Ginny finished her glass of wine and immediately reached for the bottle to pour herself another, all the while subtly topping up Hermione's glass.

"... And Ron..."

"Your ex-husband. And married."

"George."

"Your ex-husband's brother. Doesn't count."

"Draco."

Ginny shuddered. "Married. Thank God." Hermione laughed and shook her head. Ginny was almost as bad as Harry when it came to long-standing grudges.

"Oh! Neville!" Hermione grinned in triumph at finally naming a single, non-relative, male friend. Ginny wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and Hermione groaned. "Oh, no. No Ginny. We're not talking about this again, are we?"

"I'm just saying, Hermione..."

"I know, I know. I'm pathetic, middle-aged and alone. Even my nine year old doesn't want to hang out with me on a Saturday night." It was supposed to be her weekend with Hugo but Gwendolyn had scored tickets to the Chudley Canons match for the three of them and when Hugo had told her about the event she knew she couldn't say no. She and Ron had agreed that Hermione would take him on Sunday - usually Ron's day - and she had pretended not to mind that she would be spending her Saturday evening without her baby. Thankfully, Ron had floo'd Ginny to boast of going to the match and she had immediately realized that Hermione would be alone. She had left Harry to mind Lily and immediately set off for Hermione's with two bottles of wine and a whole box of Chocolate Frogs that were left over from Christmas.

"Come on, that's not what I meant!" Ginny backpedalled quickly, remembering that Hermione tended towards melancholy when she had been drinking wine. "I'm just saying... why not go out with Neville?"

"Neville?" Hermione was incredulous. "Neville Longbottom?"

"What's wrong with Neville? I went to the Yule Ball with him, so you'd better watch what you're saying!" The two women laughed.

"I don't know... It's just... I've never thought of Neville that way," Hermione admitted. "I've always thought of him as a big brother or something."

"Well maybe you need to look at him a little differently," Ginny suggested. "He's looking pretty good these days."

Hermione had to agree. She hadn't seen him since that morning at Hogwarts in October, but he had certainly looked well. Like Harry and Ron, Neville had really grown into his looks. It was always the way, she thought somberly to herself. The men got better looking just as she started to notice crows feet around her eyes. Still, he wasn't her type and if she wasn't attracted to him now there was no point in hurting them both by trying to make herself attracted to him over time.

Ginny noticed Hermione's distracted look and felt it best to change the subject. She reached into the box of Chocolate Frogs and handed one to Hermione before taking one for herself. Opening the wrapper she grinned and flashed the card at her friend.

"I got you!" Hermione's face was smiling and waving from the card, looking both immensely proud and somewhat embarrassed. She was only twenty in the photograph, and a diamond engagement ring glittered on her left hand. "Hermione Jane Granger, Order of Merlin, First Class, Brightest Witch of Her Age," Ginny read.

Hermione shook her head with a nostalgic smile. It had been such a strange honor, being placed on a Chocolate Frog Card. Ron had gone wild when they had asked him, and his photograph was living proof. He was practically jumping up and down with excitement in the photograph, no trace of nervousness in his grin. Harry's photograph was more like hers, shy but friendly. Sales of her card had lagged somewhat in recent years because of her divorce, according to Rita Skeeter. Ron's card was still going strong.

"Who'd you get?" Ginny asked, with a mouth full of chocolate. Hermione unwrapped hers quickly, momentarily transported back to her first train ride to Hogwarts; Chocolate Frogs had seemed so exotic then.

She groaned when she saw the card and almost threw it away.

"Of course," she sighed. "I would get Professor Snape." His sullen face glowered at her from the card and after a few moments he stalked to very back of the card and stood with his back to her. "Typical."

"Severus Snape, Order of Merlin, Second Class. First Class Git," Ginny joked and poured Hermione another glass of wine, turning the conversation back to Hermione's dating prospects. The two women passed the next few hours in easy banter and happy memories until Ginny reluctantly floo'd home well after midnight.

Later, as Hermione cleaned her living room and vanished the empty Chocolate Frog wrappers, her eyes fell on the two Chocolate Frog Cards sitting on the table. Her "photograph self" seemed to have moved closer to that of Professor Snape, staring curiously at his turned back, with a soft blush creeping up her cheeks. Hermione could see Snape's shoulder's shift uncomfortably under her image's gaze, although he refused to turn around. She shook her head at the fascination her twenty-year-old self seemed to have for the Potions Master. Frowning, she tried to remember why she would have paid such close attention to him then, when she would do anything to avoid ever seeing him again now.

If she was honest with herself, of course, she would like to see him again. She would love to - finally - confront him about his continued refusal to respect her, or take her seriously, or treat her daughter courteously, or admit, finally, that he had been wrong about her all this time. The alcohol in her blood stream hummed at the thought of barging into his office in the dungeons and tell him, once and for all, exactly where he could shove his sarcastic, arrogant, smug attitude. Thankfully, she had already begun to sober up and thoughts of confronting a man who probably didn't give her a second thought were quickly eradicated. Severus Snape could be a total git if he wanted to be. As long as he gave Rose the marks she deserved in class, and as long as Hermione managed to avoid him as much as possible, it really didn't matter to her what he thought of her.

And, as that familiar train of thought came to a close, Hermione switched off the lights and went to bed, lingering briefly outside Rose and Hugo's empty rooms. She did not pause to consider how often she told herself Professor Snape's opinion didn't matter, or how regularly she found herself thinking up clever ways to show him that he continued to underestimate her. She simply chalked her thoughts up to the wine and the bad luck of picking his Chocolate Frog Card out of the box.

* * *

Many miles away in Scotland, Severus Snape sat nursing a whiskey while his godson explained the complexity of his current high-profile case. His client had killed a man while under the Unbreakable Vow, and while the precedent set by Severus' own trial suggested leniency, there was some question as to whether the accused had known exactly what he was signing up to do when he took the vow.

"Anyway, Granger suggested we pursue the binder, to at least cast some doubt on the client's guilt - she really is brilliant sometimes - and of course, the Wizengamot couldn't convict with the binder still out and about so we bought some time."

"Draco, am I correct in assuming that you actually enjoy working with Miss Granger?" Severus asked, taken aback. He knew Draco tolerated the girl - woman - but he hadn't imagined that they enjoyed each other's company.

"Er... yes. She's alright, most of the time. She's helped me out more than once when she didn't have to. And she's a laugh." Draco found his usual pride at getting along with Granger suddenly turned to embarrassment. With his father gone, he found himself looking to Snape more and more for approval, and he knew his godfather wasn't exactly Hermione Granger's number one fan.

"You've gone soft," Severus said, staring at his whiskey and wondering why Hermione Granger insisted on inserting herself into every conversation he had.

"Probably," Draco admitted with a wry grin. He had relaxed considerably since Lucius' death. "You haven't, from what she tells me."

"And what does that mean?" He knocked back the remnants of his tumbler, enjoying the warm flow of the alcohol down his parched throat.

"A couple months back she came into work in a snit because of some comment you'd made about her daughter's hair. I tried to convince her that was just your usual behavior, but she is convinced you hate her." A part of Draco knew he shouldn't be betraying Granger's confidence to Snape, but loyalty had never been his strong point.

"Well, perhaps I have underestimated her. It seems on this, at least, she is correct." Severus smirked and poured himself another glass.

"Do you really hate her? I mean, I thought I did for a long time, but I found she's actually quite hard to dislike for long." It was mostly the whiskey talking, he knew. Hermione Granger was more trouble than she was worth, frankly. Astoria thought he was having an affair with her (although at the moment, Astoria was convinced he was having an affair with every woman in the greater London area, so he supposed Granger wasn't a particular problem). Lucius had been livid at the very idea of him working with her. Ron Weasley had attempted to have him fired once they had been placed in the same office. And now Severus was giving him a look that suggested that whatever respect he might have had for him was diminishing rapidly.

"On the contrary, I find hating the girl to be remarkably easy."

"She's hardly a girl any more," Draco commented. If he could feel his own age catching up with him, then he imagined she could too. "I know she's still friends with those two idiots, but she's not nearly as annoying as she was in school."

"I will take your word for it." Snape didn't care to discuss Hermione Granger any further. It seemed that every last person in his life adored her. She must be the most sought after divorcé in the wizarding world.

"You should give her a chance. From what I can tell, I think she might have a thing for you." The comment slipped out before Draco realized what he was saying. He wasn't even sure where the thought had come from, just some dormant intuition for gossip (probably Narcissa's genes) that chose that particular moment to flare to life. He noticed Snape's eyes narrowing at his comment and he immediately regretted his sixth glass of whiskey. He should have known better than to try to out-drink Snape.

"You know Draco, I invite you to the castle for intelligent conversation, not mindless gossip and idle thoughts," Severus warned. He had enough conversations about his lack of a love life from Longbottom, and he certainly didn't need Draco getting in on the act with ridiculous notions about former students. "I'm sure Miss Granger just can't handle my refusal to worship her in the same manner everyone else seems to."

Draco nodded sheepishly and held his tongue. It wouldn't be wise to continue down that maze of muddled thoughts that he wasn't sure he even understood. Instead he conjured himself a glass of water and began the long process of sobering up. It would do no good to head home drunk again, and he certainly wasn't going to drink any more in front of Snape.

"How is Scorpius performing in Potions?" Draco asked.

"Adequately. You should give him a tour of your herbal garden when he is next home. He could do with some help recognizing plant leaves, and with your estate there really can be no excuse for his ignorance."

Draco nodded. The boy had his mother's natural talent for Charms and Transfiguration, but if his relationship with Snape during the war had taught him anything, it was that Potions abilities should never be underestimated. "I'll see to it."

The rest of their evening passed in quiet conversation until Draco realized Astoria would be waiting for him. They parted without any mention of Hermione Granger and Severus did not allow himself to consider Draco's impulsive speculation any further. The last thing he needed was to have to add "adoring fan" to the list of reasons he hated Miss Granger.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**A/N: Long-awaited, I'm sure. I finished college in May and am home for a few weeks before I start work, so with enough encouragement, I may just get this story done.**

**

* * *

**

It was a particularly cold February afternoon, and as Hermione entered the Three Broomsticks, a gust of wind sent a flurry of snow in around her, making her appear for a moment, as if she had conjured the snow herself. Several Hogwarts students stared in awe and she heard one exclaim "Harry Potter's friend!" before he was muffled by his embarrassed girlfriend.

"Oi, Hermione! Over here!" Neville's voice carried easily over the hum of children's conversation and Hermione made her way to her friend's table with a bright smile. It was the first Hogsmeade weekend they had both been free (it was Ron's weekend with Hugo) and while her attempt to get Harry and Ginny to join them had failed (and Hermione had some suspicion about why exactly Harry and Ginny had both been suddenly busy this weekend), the two friends had organized to meet at the Three Broomsticks.

As Neville stood to hug her, Hermione was once again struck by just how kind the years had been to him. His newfound confidence and strength of character was matched by broad shoulders, strong musculature and an open, charming smile.

"You look gorgeous, Hermione," Neville told her as she sat down and she blushed, shaking her head with a smile.

"Now, Neville, you've never been a liar. Don't start now," she joked shaking out her hair and brushing the snow from her cloak before she draped it over the chair next to her. "What are you drinking?"

"Butterbeer. I'm on duty." His adherence to the rules had always impressed her and he earned himself an approving smile. "But you should feel free to have whatever you'd like."

In sympathy with her friend, Hermione ordered a cinnamon hot chocolate. Just as she placed her order, she noticed a familiar shape entering the pub and before she could stop him, Neville had yelled "Oi, Snape!" and beckoned his colleague over.

"Neville!" she hissed as the Deputy Headmaster made his way through the students. "Why did you do that?"

Neville winced. He tended to forget that Snape out-and-about wasn't as welcome a sight for the rest of the world. Frankly, he was delighted his friend hadn't ignored his invitation over to their table.

"Longbottom, Miss Granger," Snape offered by way of greeting. He didn't move to sit down.

"Join us for a round, Snape," Neville interrupted with a warning glance to Hermione. Snape seemed to consider his options for a moment before sitting down with a brief nod of acquiescence. "Hermione just got here. She's having a hot chocolate - what can I get for you?"

Hermione immediately regretted her choice. Why couldn't she have picked a more adult drink?

"The usual, please."

Neville took off towards the bar, leaving Hermione to stare at the table and Snape to examine the curtains. The silence fell between them heavily as Hermione struggled to think of something intelligent to say, and Snape tried to calculate exactly how long Neville would be gone. The queue for drinks appeared endless.

Snape looked well, Hermione noticed out of the corner of her eye. Again, she was surprised by his healthy pallor. It was silly, she supposed, to hold onto her childhood image of him. It was so long ago, and his life had changed so much since , he was still teaching Potions, still living in the dungeons, still cold and cruel, but he was free. If he wanted to leave Hogwarts tomorrow, he could. She wondered if he found the freedom liberating or overwhelming. She knew she would tend towards the latter, but she had never found similarities between them before.

Snape was conducting an assessment of his own. Without her daughter in tow he was reminded that Granger was still a young woman, relative to himself at least. Still impertinent, still naive, still sanctimonious. Her hair was still a bird's nest but her face did hold a pleasing amount of maturity. Her fingers were still thin and precise. He remembered begin impressed by their dexterity in the classroom. He also remembered her most irritating habit of needing to help everyone she met. Neville, Potter, Weasley. All of the Weasleys, really. And the Magical Creatures. And now, convicted criminals. Her pursuit of sainthood was truly her most irritating feature.

Casting another look at the bar he saw Neville had decided to forgo efficiency in favor of chatting with the barkeep. He wasn't coming back anytime soon, by the looks of things. Snape sighed and Granger's eyes snapped up to his immediately. He would have to say something.

"Draco mentioned a case you were working on when I last saw him. A murder involving an Unbreakable Vow?" Work-related chatter always seemed the best course of action, and when dealing with a specimen like Granger, it was always best to give her a subject she could drone on about for hours without him having to listen to a single world.

Hermione looked up from the table, startled. Had Severus Snape just started a civil conversation with her?

"Er... yes Sir," she managed. "Our client entered into an Unbreakable Vow to protect the interests of a trusted friend whose life may or may not have been in danger. He then killed his own wife, who, he claims, was plotting to kill the friend."

"And all of this is his testimony?"

"Well, we also have the testimony of the friend, but it is almost too collaborative to stand up in court."

"Draco mentioned that you are trying to locate the binder?" He was, he regretted to note, interested in what she was saying.

"Yes Sir. The prosecution hopes to show that our client entered into the Vow knowing that he would be forced to kill his wife, and that his actions were motivated by more than the compulsion of the Vow itself. Our client, on the contrary, claims he was forced into the Vow by his "friend" and the binder."

"Could you not simply argue that most actions have mixed motive, and that once the killing itself was primarily motivated by the Vow - which of course it would have been, given that the strength of the Vow's compulsion will always outweigh any human desire - it doesn't matter?"

"We considered that, for a time, but..." Hermione paused to accept her hot chocolate and tip the young wizard who brought it to her. "But, Sir, you see..." She paused again, looking up from her drink for a moment to meet the Professor's eyes.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" His tone held an edge their conversation had avoided. He knew what was coming next.

"Well, Sir, it seems that your case established a precedent - not a legal precedent, per se, but a tendency in the Wizengamot - to question the motivations of the individual entering into the Vow as much as the Vow itself." She stared at the table again, not daring to meet his eye. Why, why, did his trial have to come up during the one civil conversation they had ever had?

"Of course it did, Miss Granger. The Wizengamot has never quite recovered from having to pronounce me 'not guilty'." He paused and glanced over at Longbottom again, who mercifully seemed to be making some kind of progress. "I am sorry to be such an inconvenience to your illustrious career," he added.

"And I yours, Sir," she retorted with a cheekiness she wasn't sure she had in her. Immediately she kicked herself when his face darkened. Then, to her absolute shock his features rearranged themselves into a small - but recognizable! - smile.

"And the girl finally grows up," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. Hermione was stunned. If Ron had showed up in that moment and apologized for every time he had walked dirty trainers over their bedroom carpet, or every plate he had broken in an argument, or every dinner he hadn't thanked her for, she would not have been more surprised. She just stared at him and, being Severus Snape, he met her gaze, his eyebrow climbing ever so slightly higher.

In that moment, Neville returned with Snape's drink and a basket of chips for the table.

"So, what have you two been talking about?" he asked with a grin.

"Miss Granger's progress," Snape responded, still looking at her. Neville flicked a glance between the two, recorded a decrease in iciness at the table, and launched into a story about Albus and Rose that had Hermione giggling and Snape shaking his head in feigned disgust.

* * *

The following Monday, Hermione breezed into work, her hair perfectly arranged for what felt like the first in months, wearing her favorite work robes and greeted her colleague with a chipper "Good morning, Draco!" She flashed him her biggest smile and headed straight for the kitchen. "Two sugars in your tea?" she called back.

"Of course," he replied, following her into the kitchen. "What's got you so cheerful this morning?"

She turned to look at him, resplendent, and the look of pure contentment on her face echoed through him like a lance.

"You'll never guess," she said.

Three things popped into his mind. She had received her appointment to the Wizengamot. She was pregnant. She had met someone.

None of them left a particularly good taste in his mouth. Before he could press her for further information, she answered her own question:

"I think... I don't want to be too presumptuous. I mean, maybe he was just having a particularly good day... Although, I'm not sure what a good day for him looks like. But, I think,I hope... I think Professor Snape likes me!"

Relieved just a little bit more than he would care to admit, it took Draco a moment to process what he had just heard. But she was still talking, so his incredulity had to wait.

"I don't know Draco, I was at the Three Broomsticks with Neville, when he happened to walk in, and of course, Neville invited him over and then went to get the drinks and it was just us. I couldn't think of a single thing to say. I've spent five months ready to give him a piece of my mind, and well, nineteen years ready to shake him silly for all those risks he took, and I couldn't even open my mouth! Anyway, then he asked me about our case and we talked back a forth for a bit, but of course, his own trial came up and I was sure I had offended him. He made one of his usual quips - you know the kind, dripping with sarcasm - and I don't know what I was thinking but I retorted! And I thought, that's it, I'm done for, I'd better get up and leave, but then -" Draco wondered if she had taken a breath in this whole outpouring - "he smiled at me. He smiled at me. And said something about me having finally grown up! And we spent the rest of the afternoon - with Neville - in somewhat civil conversation! I mean, he still insulted my hair, and my intelligence, and poor Crookshanks, but it was almost... friendly? Can you believe it?"

She was finished. He really, truly did not know where to start.

"Well of course he likes you after that!" he finally said. "You answered back!"

Hermione paused for a moment.

"But he hates that! I remember he even took points from you for answering back in Potions!"

"The classroom is different, Granger. He needs absolute respect there. But I'm sure this was the first time in almost thirty years that you have dared to do anything other than get offended by his sarcasm."

Hermione just stared at him. Twenty years of trying to earn Severus Snape's approval, and there it was. The answer. Wordlessly she handed him his tea. He shook his head at her, tussled her hair a little (which she hated) and headed back to his desk.

"Oh, one last thing Granger," he called back. "Snape thinks you fancy him."

"What?"

Draco loved Mondays.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews! Keep 'em coming! **

* * *

Five hours of teasing later, Draco admitted that Snape did not, in fact, believe that Hermione "fancied him". A few gentle slaps across the back of the head sufficed as punishment and Hermione finally felt her heart rate return to normal. It would do no good to her (very new) goal of befriending her former Professor if he imagined she had any kind of _designs_ on him.

Despite Draco's assurances, it was Thursday before she could put quill to paper without feeling an unwarranted blush creep up her neck at the very notion that he might take her letter as a romantic attempt, rather than what it was: the paralyzing desire to be respected by the one Professor who had never liked her. It was juvenile, she knew, to still allow someone like Professor Snape to hold such power over her. She was, at thirty-eight years of age, uncommonly accomplished, and her ventures outside of the workforce - raising two wonderful children, negotiating an amicable and dignified divorce, volunteering with numerous charities, advising many Ministry and Order leaders – continued to prove she was as well-rounded as she was thorough. But his consistent refusal to acknowledge her as an equal (an honour he had bestowed on Neville Longbottom, of all people! His most disliked, distrusted and terrorized former student!) had cut to the core too many times, and the brief glimpse offered by Saturday afternoon of what it felt like to receive Severus Snape's approval, proved too much for her. She must pursue his respect. It was a matter of dignity.

_

* * *

_

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_It was a pleasure to see you this past Saturday at the Three Broomsticks. During our conversation you showed an interest in our most current case, and murder trials involving Unbreakable Vow's in general. I hope you won't find it too impertinent, but I have attached a copy of my most recent article (as yet unpublished) on the topic of magical compulsion (including, but not limited to Unbreakable Vows, the Imperius Curse) in determining motive. _

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

_

* * *

_

Sitting at the Head Table, Severus held the letter in his hands gingerly, as if it might bite him. Neville stifled a laugh at his friend's expression.

"What do the Ministry want now?" he asked, reaching across the potions professor to grab another slice of toast. It wasn't often that Snape received letters delivered by Ministry owl – the two preferred to stay as far out of each other's lives.

"A fate far worse than the Ministry, Longbottom," Snape said with a grimace. "It seems your Miss Granger has taken it upon herself to start sending me updates on her progress in the field of law." Folding the letter into the pocket of his robes, Severus tried to forget all about the eager Miss Granger and her irritating correspondence. No such luck. Later that evening he found himself distracted while correcting student's essays. Who did Granger think she was? He was a potions professor, for heaven's sake. And Deputy Headmaster! He had quite enough on his plate already, thank you very much, without former students – and _that_ former student in particular, sending him extracurricular assignments.

Because if he knew Miss Granger at all – and he did – she was trying to win his approval in some way. She would expect him to read the damned thing, analyze it, and reply with comments and, worst of all, praise. An knowing her diligence, the article would indeed be worthy of praise. But knowing her tendency to overwrite, it would also be the perfect cure for his regular insomnia – something he preferred to treat with potions rather than reading material.

There was no option, really, but to put the woman in her place. Really, it was unbecoming of a woman of almost forty years of age to still be seeking approval from former professors. Any inkling he had at all that she might finally have grown up was gone. She was clearly still the same hand-waving, knowledge spewing, praise-seeking little know-it-all she always had been.

_

* * *

_

Miss Granger,

_When I am in need of reading materials, I shall be sure to inform you. As it stands, your article is unwanted, unnecessary and unflattering in its blatant desire for praise._

_Severus Snape_

_

* * *

_

Hermione arrived in work on Friday morning brandishing Snape's response.

"What is this?" she demanded of Draco. "What, exactly, is this?"

"Looks like a letter, petal," he responded with a wolfish grin.

"This, Draco, is a letter from _your_ Godfather telling me where to shove my article on compulsion and motive."

Draco's grin only grew. Hermione could be a total riot when she was angry. He took the letter from her and read it with a raised eyebrow. Severus could be so pleasantly consistent in his behaviours.

"What is so surprising about this?" he asked. "You know he's hardly one for praise, or even thanks. What were you hoping for, an ode to your legal analysis?"

"I was expecting something civil!"

"Then you wrote to the wrong man, Granger. He's not going to be your friend, you know."

Her face fell, for a moment, in a perfect picture of disappointment. Lord, but the girl wore her heart on her sleeve.

"But… he is friends with Neville!" she managed in a small voice. "Oh, for heaven's sake! Listen to me! I sound like a schoolgirl! Utter nonsense. If he wants to be a bastard, let him." And with that she was gone, the letter snatched out of his hands as she practically stomped into the kitchen. For a moment he could hear cups and plates rattling ominously but her mood seemed to stabilize after a moment. Half a minute of silence later her head appeared around the door, a sheepish look on her face. "Er… sorry about all of that. I just… I just don't get him, that's all."

Draco nodded sympathetically. Severus Snape was exactly the kind of man a woman like Hermione Granger would never understand.

"You should respond, you know," he told her.

"Whatever would I say? Sorry for attempting a bit of human courtesy, best of luck spending the rest of your life alone?"

"Maybe not something quite that harsh, but yes. Let him know you're not so desperate for his approval that you're afraid to fight back."

"But what if I am?"

"He doesn't need to know that. Do you think Longbottom went down to his quarters every night begging to be his friend? Come on Granger, put that brain to good use."

She shook her head slightly. Draco was right. She was going about this entirely the wrong way. There was something about Professor Snape that made her behave like she was still eleven years of age, waving her hand in his classroom, her knowledge greeted by disdain rather than praise. Steeling her shoulders she resolved not to let his rudeness bother her. She was an adult. He could behave like a child if he wanted to.

* * *

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_Given that you failed to return my article with your Owl, I can only assume you have read it and have nothing constructive to offer on the topic. Please accept my sincere apologies for overestimating your academic interest and intellectual capabilities. _

_Yours, etc_

_Hermione Granger, Esq._

_

* * *

_

Severus groaned into his morning coffee as he saw the owl approach, and his mood did not improve when he saw the all-too-familiar handwriting on the envelope.

"Another letter from Hermione?" Neville asked.

"A cosmic punishment for a lifetime of deducting points from Gryffindor, I'm sure," Snape replied, opening the letter with no urgency whatsoever. He had rather hoped his last letter would have silenced her for the foreseeable future.

Neville was surprised to see the professor's expression shift from dread to… satisfaction? A small, smug smile crossed his features, just for an instant and the Professor shook his head in amusement.

"And the woman reappears," he muttered quietly, so Longbottom couldn't hear.

"What's that?" Neville asked, curious as to what Hermione could have said to bring about such a change in the Professor's attitude.

"It seems Miss Granger may not be quite the yes-woman I always believed her to be," Severus commented, tucking the note away. The girl was correct, he _had_ read her article. But she was calling his bluff with her assertion that he must not have any comments. And he was more than happy to play along.

* * *

_Miss Granger,_

_Please find attached your article. _

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Severus Snape, Deputy Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Potions Master_

_

* * *

_

The owl crashed into Hermione's desk, knocking pens and papers to the ground as it struggled under the weight of the package it carried. She quickly untied the bulging envelope and fed the owl a few treats before sending it on his way. Having read the note – and realizing she was probably in for some kind of punishment – she was nervous as she opened whatever Professor Snape had chosen to even the score with.

As the page spilled out onto her desk she realized exactly what was happening. Her article had been _decimated_ by him. Every page was covered with his familiar, spidery handwriting, every sentence was torn apart, every idea questioned and re-questioned. Attached to the article were _fifteen_ more articles on similar topics and _four pages_ of books he recommended she read before a second "attempt" was made. She sat and stared at the article for five minutes before taking a deep breath and plunging into his scathing comments.

* * *

_Professor Snape,_

_Thank you for your magnanimous contributions to my article. I hope you'll excuse my brief reply, I am writing this letter from beneath the pile of books you recommended. Please owl for help if I don't emerge by June._

_Yours, etc_

_Hermione Jane Granger, Esq, MPhil_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews! I hope this chapter is up to standard! **

* * *

June came and went. Rose finished her first year at school with perfect grades, and more importantly, a small group of friends. Hugo had his sister home and spent days dragging her around the house showing her his new toys and telling her every last thing he had done since he saw her last. Hermione watched them from her desk in the living room, still researching her article. She had exhausted Professor Snape's books months ago, but those books had referenced other titles that had referenced other titles, and so she spent most of July supervising her children as they re-acquainted themselves with each other (which involved the usual spats and tears and laughter) with a book in hand.

The case that had sparked this entire vein of research was long-since finished. The binder had been found in hiding and a quick tracing spell on his wand revealed that he had been involved in casting over twenty Unbreakable Vow's in the past six months alone. He was revealed to be a kind of binder-for-hire, and once that evidence was brought before the friend of the accused, he had broken down and admitted that the entire incident had been his idea. He had been having an affair with the wife of the accused and had feared that the accused would kill him if he found out. He had sought the vow as a means of tricking his friend into being bound against hurting him. He hadn't reckoned for the accused's wife having motives of her own. And so Hermione and Draco's reputation received another boost, and their caseload grew every day.

July 31st came around quickly and Hermione bundled Rose and Hugo into the car early that Saturday morning. It was a pleasant two hour drive to Harry and Ginny's place and Hugo slept most of the way. Rose chattered about school, a topic Hermione was always keen to indulge, and Joni Mitchell crooned softly on the car's cd player.

"… And then, Professor Snape told me that if I didn't stop helping Jeff Williams he was going to take thirty points from Ravenclaw, and give us both detention," Rose told her, face animated.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny? I didn't want to lose points!"

"It's not that, it's just…" Hermione wondered whether to share this particular story with her daughter, decided it wasn't terribly rebellious and wouldn't incite bad behaviour and proceeded. "When I was in school, Professor Snape used to say almost the same thing to me."

"Who were you helping? He can't be as bad as poor Jeff!"

"It was Neville, actually. And he was worse, Rose, I promise. He was absolutely _terrified_ of Professor Snape."

"Professor Longbottom? Afraid of Professor Snape? But they are as thick as thieves!" Rose was stunned. "How can they be friends if Professor Snape was so mean to Professor Longbottom? And if Professor Longbottom was scared of him?"

Hermione shook her head and laughed again.

"I think Professor Snape is easier to like _outside_ of the classroom," she offered as they pulled into Harry's driveway.

"Are you friends with him then?" Rose asked in horror.

"No, honey, I'm not," Hermione said switching off the engine. "Now, you wake Hugo – gently! – and I'll see if Aunt Ginny can help me with the bags in the boot. And remember, if Uncle Harry asks, you're here to visit Albus and Lily – _not_ for his birthday."

"We do this every year, mum. Uncle Harry's not stupid."

Hermione looked at her daughter fondly. Smart girl. She was right. Harry didn't think they all arrived en masse at his house every year by coincidence. But he insisted he hated his birthday and didn't want a party, and they insisted on celebrating with him under false pretences.

* * *

Five hours of baking, cleaning and cooking later, Hermione and Ginny had created a veritable feast. Harry came in and out of the kitchen grumbling about birthdays and unnecessary celebrations and no one ever listening to him and Ginny shoved him out with a slap of a rolling pin to his behind. An hour later, Neville had arrived hoping to find Hermione to share some important information about the Forbidden Forest, Teddy and Victoire had shown up to visit their adopted family, George, Ron and Gwendolyn had arrived to see if Harry was up for a spontaneous game of Quidditch, Luna had arrived with no explanation, simply offering Harry a happy birthday and asking if he had spotted a Pig-Nosed Cornshrump in the neighbourhood recently.

The day passed quickly with great food, several pick-up games of Quidditch, several glasses of wine and many complaints from Harry about the fuss that was being made over him. Neville sought out Hermione in the mid-afternoon while she was sitting on the back porch watching Harry, George, Ron and Gwen play their fifth game of Quidditch.

"Enjoying the game?" he asked, sitting next to her and passing her a beer.

"As much as ever," she replied with a smile. "How are you doing?"

"Well. Didn't expect to see Luna here," he admitted. "But she seems to be happy."

"She does." Luna was still travelling the world hunting creatures that couldn't possibly exist. For all her apparent wisdom, Hermione still couldn't quite tolerate her, a fact she kept from Neville.

"Oh, Snape told me to give you his best," he said, eager to change the subject.

"He did?" Hermione was surprised. She hadn't heard from him since he had sent her article back in pieces.

"He seemed to think you might be dead, actually," he said. "Didn't know what he was on about."

Hermione nearly spat out her beer as the laughter peeled out of her. She doubled over in giggles for a moment.

"What's it all about?" Neville asked.

"I sent him an article months ago and eventually he sent it back covered in corrections and recommendations. I think I made some joke about getting buried under a stack of books and to call for help if I didn't emerge by June," she explained. "I honestly didn't think he'd remember." She smiled to herself. The temptation to send him an updated draft of her article had been almost overwhelming but she had reminded herself that he wasn't her professor any longer and so her last version had gone straight to the publisher and was due out in October. Perhaps she would owl him to let him know. Or maybe she wouldn't.

"Oi, Hermione!" Ron called from the sky. "Grab us a beer will you?"

"You can't drink and fly, Ron," she told him and saw his face drop. She shook her head slightly and smiled. She loved Ron dearly, but she was incredibly grateful he wasn't her responsibility any more.

"Er… You're not seeing anyone at the moment are you?" Neville asked suddenly, not meeting her eye.

Hermione was momentarily stunned by his question and its obvious implication. It wasn't unusual for her and Neville to talk about their love lives, but his eager avoidance of her eyes and his stammered speech left no question about it. Neville was about to ask her out. Her shock was tempered somewhat when out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Ginny standing in the kitchen window watching them intently. Ah.

"Did Ginny put you up to this?" she asked in what she hoped was a gentle tone. Tact had never been her strong point.

Neville's blush gave it all away.

"She… er… thought it would be a good idea if you and I…"

"Well, listen Neville. I don't think you fancy me, do you?"

"What do you mean? You're gorgeous, and the cleverest person I know, and you're a great mother, and…" He was clearly nervous, rabbiting off the list of qualities he _should_ find attractive in her.

"I'm not your type Neville, we both know that. And you're very sweet to say those things, but don't feel like we need to go out just because we're friends and we're a certain age. I think you're very good looking too, and you're one of the nicest guys I've ever met… but we're not compatible." She looked at him straight in the eye, hoping he wouldn't think she was patronizing him.

"I know. I mean, you've been single for years and I thought about it, you know, once or twice but…"

"Me too." It was sad, really, when she thought about it. Neville was a decent bloke, he loved her kids, he would treat her right, and he was certainly an attractive man. At thirty-nine, maybe that should be enough. But she respected him too much to settle for him when both of them could do better.

They both sat in silence for a moment. Hermione saw Ginny toss her towel into the sink in disgust.

"What is your type then?" Neville asked, taking a swig of his beer, happy to be back on steady ground.

"Er… Like Ron, I guess. Outgoing, loyal, happy-go-lucky…" She trailed off.

"Really?" Neville's scepticism was evident.

"What do you mean?" Hermione furrowed her brow. Ron _was_ all of those things, wasn't he?

"It's just… I always pictured you with someone a little more… challenging."

"Ron is a challenge, believe me," she joked.

"No, like… Take you and Malfoy," he suggested.

"We're just colleagues!" she almost shouted! Her friendship with Draco was a touchy subject at Harry's, especially with Ron possibly in ear-shot. And besides, surely Neville didn't think that she and Draco…?

"Come on, Hermione. I'm not Harry or Ron. I know you're friends, Severus thinks it's one of the strangest things he's ever heard. But you and Malfoy, I'd imagine you're not super polite to each other every day? Overly sensitive with each other's feelings? I doubt it's his charming attitude and chivalrous nature that appeals to you?"

Hermione laughed a loud, short laugh and Neville had his answer.

"Well, I just think that maybe that's the kind of relationship you need. Someone to keep you on your toes. Someone who's not afraid to tell you you're wrong, someone you can't… er… boss around."

"I don't fancy Malfoy," she assured him.

"Well, I should hope not," Neville replied with a grin. "But do you see what I'm saying? Malfoy isn't exactly the most obvious candidate for your friendship. Different houses, a long history of enmity, a continuing rivalry with your two best friends, kind of a git… And yet you two get along great. Maybe you need someone like that in your love life too?"

Hermione took a swig of her beer and contemplated Neville's words. It was true, there was a magnetism about Malfoy that intrigued her, and their banter did teeter on the edge of flirtation. While there was no inkling of romantic feelings on her part, there was a spark in her relationship with him that was utterly absent in her relationship with Ron, and in any romantic endeavours since her marriage. But could she really be _that _stupid when it came to her love life that she had been seeing the wrong men for this long? She sighed. Probably so. She was incredibly accomplished at almost everything, but as a single, divorced, thirty-nine-year old woman, she couldn't claim success in romance.

"You might have a point Neville," she said with a sigh. "But I don't think I'd ever want to you know… _be_ with Draco, even if he wasn't married. So where does that leave me?"

"I think it just means he's not the right guy for you. Thankfully. Can you imagine Harry's face? Or Ron's?" Neville looked terrified at the prospect and Hermione couldn't blame him. Her boys were hardly known for their temperate moods.

"What about you Neville? We can't sit here and talk about my romantic prospects without delving into yours." She watched his gaze flick to Luna who appeared to be examining a potted plant a little too closely.

"Er… I dunno. Hard to meet anyone working at the school, you know. And er… I suppose I've never really given up hope with Luna," he admitted in a small voice.

Hermione weighed her options. She could nod in sympathy, make a few non-committal noises and keep her mouth shut. Or she could be honest with Neville about Luna Lovegood for once and for all. Given how honest he'd been with her so far, she felt she owed it to him to tell him the truth.

"Neville, do you want to live in England?" she asked, taking another long drink.

"Course!" His reply was enthusiastic.

"And do you want to continue teaching at Hogwarts?" she prodded.

"As long as they'll have me!"

"Then Luna is not the girl for you Neville. For that and other reasons," she told him.

"But… maybe she'll want to settle down in a few years?" he offered.

"I highly doubt it." She hated to use her courtroom voice, but Neville often needed some tough-love. Professor Snape had taught her that all those years ago.

"Or maybe she could apparate from the school gates to wherever she wants to go exploring? And just come home on weekends, or every few months, or…" he trailed off, realizing how ridiculous he must sound.

"I would imagine these are the same solutions you proposed when she left you?"

Neville just nodded.

"It's not just the travelling, Neville. Luna is… flaky. Don't get me wrong – she's a lovely girl, and very bright, and obviously very beautiful and unique – but you're loyal Neville. You care for people and want to be cared for in return. That isn't going to happen with Luna. She might still love you, you might still love her. But your differences, and the things that are pulling you apart now… those things aren't contextual, or based on your age… they're who you are." Hermone knew she wasn't talking about Neville and Luna any more. This was the same conversation she had had with Ron all those years ago, sitting at their kitchen table with her tea going cold and his eyes starting to water. She took a deep breath and glanced over at Neville. He was looking at Luna with his brow furrowed. She decided not to press him. "I think you need to find a girl who wants to love you Neville, not one who treats her love for you as an inconvenience. You deserve that." She gave him an encouraging smile and a pat on the shoulder before standing up and stretching her legs. "I'm going to get another beer – do you want one?"

Neville shook his head. Immediately Hermione worried she'd gone too far, that she'd let her own history and emotions interfere with her advice. But after a moment he looked up at her and smiled a small, sad smile.

"Thanks Hermione. I've needed to hear that for five years."

"It usually takes someone outside the situation to shine any light on it," she reminded him, thinking of his advice to her. "Now, I'm going to go get a beer, and give Ginny Weasley a piece of my mind for trying to play matchmaker _again_."

Neville laughed and wished her luck and as she walked away Hermione wondered if maybe this was the start of something for her and Neville. Something separate, of course, and something different. But if he was right, and she was right, there were changes ahead. And Hermione Granger was not afraid of change. Once she was in control of it, of course.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

A/N: With an update rate like this (one chapter a day!), this story might actually be finished in time! Thank you for the reviews!

* * *

Few who knew him would be surprised to hear that Severus Snape took great pleasure in the long summer break, free from the classroom and the dunderheads who tormented him there. This summer was no different. He had divided his time – as was his habit – between his administrative duties at the school, and his cottage in Bath (his first act as a free man had been to sell the house at Spinner's End). He had caught up on the potions quarterlies he had been too busy to read during term, had experimented with several new variations on blood-replenishing potions and had spent six, glorious weeks free of human interaction. But August had come around quickly this year, and so he found himself drawing up a new curriculum for NEWT levels potions at the Ministry's request, assisting Minerva with the distribution of Hogwarts letters and dreading the term ahead.

His colleagues had been surprised at his refusal to accept the Defence position a second time. They had, of course, been far more shocked by his decision to return to Hogwarts at all following Voldemort's defeat, his rescue and the long, arduous trial that eventually cleared his name. But really, he had wanted to say to them, what else would he do? He was hardly a man of bountiful hobbies, or one content with idleness. He disliked teaching no more than he disliked most tasks he considered beneath him, and really, with a record like his, who was going to hire him other than a Headmistress overcome by guilt at her lack of faith in him? The Deputy Headmaster position had not come about for another ten years. He had no desire to pursue administration any further after the sham year that was his time as Headmaster, but the position was open and he was the only able-bodied, senior member of staff with the qualifications, and the time, to handle the position.

And so he found himself, on August 28th, escorting two bewildered Muggleborn families through Diagon Alley. He really was, he knew, the worst candidate for the job. He was not a patient man, nor was he a talkative one. The Muggle parents had asked well over a thousand questions by now, each of which he had answered to their satisfaction. They had now moved on to questions about _him_, a subject he was not willing to indulge.

"This is _Flourish and Blotts_," he announced, interrupting yet another question about his childhood. "Your children have a copy of their required texts for the year. I suggest you commence your shopping immediately, the shop is sure to be mobbed within the next thirty minutes." It was his practice to collect the parents and children at 6AM, take them immediately to Gringotts, then to Ollivanders (now under the ownership of his nephew), then Flourish and Blotts and then on to the less necessary locations. It was almost 8AM and only the most dedicated shoppers had arrived at that point, but they were running out of time. He hated to be seen escorting families. It gave parents and students the impression he was _approachable_.

The families took their cue and headed into the shop. He left them to approach an employee before slipping into the store and heading straight for the Defence and Potions books. There was a new volume out on defensive potions that sounded right up his alley. He turned into the appropriate aisle and nearly tripped over a young boy who was crouched down reading the titles on the bottom shelf. The child startled at this presence but immediately assumed a strangely familiar countenance of authority.

"You should be more careful when rounding corners," the child told him. Severus blinked at the boy. "You don't want to fall over someone, do you?" the boy asked.

"Perhaps you shouldn't position yourself so precariously," Severus responded, immediately chastising himself for entering into an argument with a child.

"Mum says the same thing," the child confided. "But she also says knowledge is power, and these books contain lots of knowledge, so her instructions seem a bit muddled, really."

Severus couldn't help a small quirk of his lips. The child was unbelievably precocious; a trait he hated in the classroom but that was strangely charming on this particular young man.

"What books are you looking at then?" the boy asked.

"Potions and Defence against the Dark Arts," Severus told him. "And you?"

"Potions. I'm not allowed to do magic at home, and I haven't started school yet, but mum does let me make some potions when she's around. She says I'm really good!"

Severus nodded appraisingly. The boy's mother was correct to encourage the boy's brewing abilities before he got sidetracked by the more showy aspects of magic. He wished more parents were as sensible as this mysterious young boy's mother.

"I'm Hugo," the boy told him, standing up to his full height of about four foot two and offering his hand. Severus took it without thinking.

"Severus Snape," he replied. Immediately the boy dropped his hand and backed away slightly.

"_You're _Professor Snape?" he said in horror. "But you're _horrible_!"

"Yes I am." Severus saw no point in arguing with a reputation he had worked very hard to cultivate.

"Rose says you…" Hugo's sentence and Severus's realization of exactly who this child must belong to was cut short by the arrival of the boy's mother.

"There you are Hugo!" Hermione Granger announced, rather unnecessarily in Severus's opinion. "How many times have I told you… Oh!" Hermione spotted him and immediately blushed scarlet. "Professor Snape. It's good to see you Sir."

"Likewise."

"I hope Hugo wasn't bothering you, Sir. He has a habit of talking to strangers." She tussled her son's hair affectionately and he shot her a glare for embarrassing him in public.

"Professor Snape's not a stranger, mum!" he objected. "He's Rose's professor. And a mean one, to boot!" Being on the receiving end of this young man's anger was an interesting experience, Severus realized. The child had his mother's brains and his father's temper. He would be a nightmare in the classroom.

Hermione's eyes widened threateningly at her son.

"I'm sorry, Sir…" she began.

"Not to worry, Miss Granger. Your son's attitude will do well to cement my reputation as the giant bat of the dungeons," he assured her.

Hermione blinked; she had expected him to be offended, or at the very least, irritated by Hugo's little outburst. Instead he seemed somewhat… tickled by it.

"Don't stare, Miss Granger. It doesn't befit your age." Her obvious surprise that he possessed a sense of humour was irritating.

Ah, there was the Severus Snape she knew.

"Mum?" Hugo asked, tugging at her sleeve. She tore her attention from the Professor and looked at her son. "Why do you call him Sir? He's not your Professor too, is he?"

Hermione laughed and noticed that Professor Snape smiled at his question.

"It's just… habit, I suppose. Professor Snape taught me while I was at Hogwarts," she told Hugo. "Now, go find Rose. And no talking to strangers!"

"Yes mum," he said in a tone of voice that implied he wasn't listening. Before he sped away he turned to Professor Snape and said, "Nice to meet you, Sir. You should be nicer to my sister, though. She's just as clever as my mum!" And with that, he was gone, leaving Hermione to realize that once again, she had been left alone with the Professor with absolutely nothing to say.

"Your son is a terror," Snape told her, but his voice did not contain any disdain. "I'm sure Weasley can rest assured that at least one of his children will be in Gryffindor."

Hermione laughed and shook her head slightly. Hugo was a handful.

"He is a lot more like Ron than me," she said.

"On the contrary, Miss Granger, I find his self assurance and precociousness very reminiscent of your younger self. And he certainly didn't get his brains from Weasley." Now that he said it, he realized that Granger didn't possess the same confidence she once had, at least where he was concerned. He filed that thought away for further reflection.

"But I would never have spoken to you like that, Sir!" she protested.

"But you could set me on fire and steal from my stores?" he asked archly.

The girl blushed and despite his lingering anger at their treatment of him in school, he realised that she was indeed embarrassed, which would do for now.

"You're right, of course." She seemed subdued. "Can I apologise again for that, Sir?"

"I don't believe you ever have apologised, Miss Granger. But an apology is not necessary. We all did what we believed was necessary." He didn't realise until he had spoken the words that he had indeed forgiven her, and Potter, for their mistrust of him during their school years. Longbottom really was beginning to get to him, it seemed. "Let's just hope Hugo continues to take after you," he said.

She looked up at him, surprised, and smiled nervously.

"You wouldn't… you wouldn't like to join us for lunch would you?" she asked impulsively. It was so rare that she had an opportunity to converse with him. Her plan to befriend him was months behind schedule, and here he was, apparently charmed by her son. "I know it's only eight, but we've a lot of shopping to do, and I assume you're here on school business, so maybe you could join us when you're finished? Noon at The Leaky Cauldron?" She sounded desperate. She hated that she sounded desperate. Of course he would say no, he couldn't stand her, and besides…

"If I am so unfortunate to still find myself in the area at that time I will join you," he said and turned on his heel. He was outside before he realized he hadn't even looked at the book he wanted to buy. But that hardly mattered now. He had agreed to dine with Hermione Granger, and her children! What was _wrong _with him? Just because the woman had the sense to teach her son the value of potions (and the even better sense to divorce that fool Weasley, too) didn't mean he had to eat with her. His company was hardly a reward for good parenting.

But she had wanted to spend time with him. And her son had actually seemed to _like_ him, and not because he was a war hero or because he had almost died for being a lovesick fool.

He shook his head. Maybe he wouldn't go. He hadn't really promised to be there anyway. If those Muggles hurried up he could be back in the castle by eleven, and then all he'd have to do was owl her an apology later. He glanced back into the store. The Muggles were still on the first section of books. There was no hope.

* * *

Sitting in the Leaky Cauldron at five minutes to noon, Hermione could not for the life of her fathom how she had imagined asking Professor Snape to join them for lunch was a good idea. Hugo was in foul form, again, after realising that in a few weeks Rose would be gone to school again and he still wasn't allowed to go. Rose was furious with her mother for inviting Professor Snape, of all people, to lunch and wouldn't speak to her. It was bound to be a complete disaster. Despite her earlier intentions, Hermione found herself hoping that Snape had finished his duties early and escaped back to the castle. He couldn't _want_ to have lunch with her, surely, so perhaps he would just owl her some excuse tomorrow and she could forget about the whole thing.

"Professor Snape!" Hugo stood up and waved wildly at the approaching professor and Hermione watched Rose's face fall. She set her shoulders and stood herself, turning around to greet him. He offered her a quick nod, offered the same to Rose, and sat in the chair Hugo held out for him. Hugo immediately began chattering away about potions books and his brewing efforts at home and Hermione shot Rose what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Her daughter had sunk into her chair, hoping to hide herself, it seemed, as much from Professor Snape as from any of her friends who might be in the vicinity. She couldn't imagine what people would say if they knew her mother invited someone as cruel and hateful as Professor Snape to lunch.

"Have you ordered?" Severus asked Miss Granger once Hugo stopped talking for a fraction of a second.

"Not yet," she told him. "I think I'm going to have the salad, and Rose wants the soup. Hugo wants a little of everything, I think." She knew he wouldn't appreciate her mindless prattle but really, what was she supposed to say? This lunch must be one of the worst ideas she had ever had.

Severus nodded and returned to his menu. This was utterly bizarre. _Why _was he at lunch with this woman and her family? The girl looked positively terrified, and Granger was almost as bad. Only Hugo seemed oblivious to the ridiculousness of the situation, but Severus could hardly spend the entire lunch in conversation with a nine-year-old, even if he was exceptionally bright.

"What became of your article?" he asked once they had placed their orders.

"It is to be published in October," she told him, pride evident in her voice. "Thank you for your help with it, the books you recommended were invaluable."

Unsure of how to respond to her thanks, Severus just nodded.

"I hope you don't mind," Hermione continued. "But I included your name in the acknowledgements."

He snapped his head around to glare at her, but noticed the look of horror on Rose's face. Good lord, he couldn't even berate the woman properly with her children present. This was an utter nightmare. He chose his words carefully.

"That was unnecessary," he told her coldly. "Rather like your sending me the article in the first place."

"You certainly seemed to have plenty to say on the matter," she responded with a firm look. "Not even my editor assessed it with such a _critical _eye."

"Perhaps your editor has just grown used to your fondness unnecessarily lengthy explanations and tangential information. As well as your overuse of the semi-colon."

"One would imagine you would be equally used to those elements of my writing, Sir," she replied. "Given how often you referenced similarities between the article and my work as a first year."

"And yet, Miss Granger, somehow your writing managed to exceed my expectations for both repetitiveness and self-indulgence." It was, he realised, rather enjoyable to interact with her this way.

"And that must be the first "Exceeds Expectations" I have ever received from you," she told him with a smile. He raised an eyebrow at her.

Thankfully he was saved from having to admit defeat in that particular conversation by the arrival of their food. Only then did he notice that Hugo was grinning at them, and Rose was staring at them with her mouth slightly agape.

"Mum," the younger girl hissed once he had tucked into his pot-roast. "You _can't_ talk to him that way! He's my Professor!"

Hermione shushed her daughter quickly and reminded Hugo not to slurp his soup. The rest of the meal passed quickly as Hugo entertained Snape by describing the utter disaster that was his first (unauthorized, his mother pointed out) foray into the world of potions.

"And so I've decided I want to be a Potions Master," he concluded. "Although mum says it's very hard and only the very best wizards can brew the potions required for the title. She also said you were one of the best Potions Masters in England. And the youngest. Is that true?"

Hermione almost choked on her water. When had she said that? Hugo was like a sponge, she couldn't say anything around him without him repeating it back to her later. She hadn't even realized she had spoken about Professor Snape around him at all.

Severus cleared his throat. Praise was not something he dealt with well.

"The first achievement I lay no claim to. The second is factually true," he said eventually. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and he frowned at her. Unlike her and her friends, he didn't care to boast of his every accomplishment.

"Hugo, finish your soup before it gets cold," Hermione said, saving the Professor from further interrogation. She had been surprised to notice that he had been embarrassed by Hugo's praise.

"Did you enjoy your first year at Hogwarts, Rose?" Snape asked. Mother and daughter looked shocked at his question. Rose had thought she had largely escaped his notice, and Hermione had not expected him to ask such a polite question.

"Yes Sir." Rose wasn't going to give him any more than that.

"You performed adequately in potions," he told her. "As your grade reflected. If you would stop helping Jeff Williams for five minutes, you might be able to focus more on your own brewing."

Rose just nodded meekly. Hermione felt sorry for her daughter. She really wished she would come out of her shell more, but really, what could she expect when the girl was faced with Professor Snape? She could hardly conduct a full conversation with the man without blushing or saying something stupid, so how could she expect it of her thirteen-year-old daughter?

"You are very like your mother," Snape offered, which elicited a smile from the girl.

"Were you in the Order of the Phoenix too?" Hugo asked suddenly.

"Hugo!" Hermione chastised before Severus had a chance to answer. "That's enough! Professor Snape has been kind enough to eat lunch with us and to deal with your rather impertinent questions but that is enough." She paused for a moment and collected herself. Severus noticed that her hands were shaking slightly. He watched her take a deep breath. "Rose, why don't you take Hugo to Fortescues and get something for dessert?" Rose nodded and held out her hand to the now pouting Hugo who took it, shooting his mother a look before following her out of the pub.

Severus wasn't quite sure what had just happened. Silence fell between them and he wasn't sure if he should bother trying to break it. Clearly Granger had gotten herself in a snit over something.

"I'm sorry about that, Sir," she said eventually. "I'm sure you think I'm nuts… I don't like them talking about the war, that's all. They hear things of course, and I've given them a basic outline of what happened, but I think they're too young for the details yet. Clearly Ron's been talking about the "glory days" again, if Hugo's asking about the Order And I didn't want you to have to deal with trying to answer…"

"You were Rose's age when you faced Quirrell," Snape said evenly. He chose to ignore her allusion to his role in the whole mess.

"I know… but…"

"There are no buts about it, Miss Granger. The children talk about it in school, and I'm sure Hugo hears things from Potter and Weasley. You can't protect them forever. And you're lucky; all you have to protect them from is a story. Your parents were not so fortunate."

"My parents didn't know about most of it," she admitted. "But you're right, of course."

"Of course," he echoed and when she caught his eye, Hermione thought for a moment she sensed warmth there. It was gone, immediately of course, replaced by his usual cold, impenetrable exterior. Silence settled between them again, but neither moved to break it. They just held eye contact for a moment, and Hermione realised that this was what understanding looked like from Severus Snape. She felt immensely and somewhat inexcusably privileged to have had his understanding bestowed on her. She also felt a little light headed. Their interactions changed so quickly, from rapid fire insults, to a kind of banter, to impatience (him), to confusion (her), to this. Whatever this was.

"I should be going," Severus said eventually. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on, as they sat in silence, but he knew that longer it lasted, the more uncomfortable he became. Granger had a very sincere face, he realised. Her whole self, the loving, protective mother, the bright, precocious child, the recently insecure, fiercely intelligent woman, was on her face. He marvelled at how she managed to get through the day, flinging so much of herself at the world.

"Don't," she said suddenly and blushed. "Sorry. It's just… would you say goodbye to Hugo and Rose before you do? They'll be back in a minute, and he seems very fond of you, and…"

"I will," he interrupted. Whatever had passed between them a few moments previously was gone and the silence that descended was more awkward than amiable. He tapped his foot impatiently on the floor, suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to leave. What was he playing at anyway? Having lunch with Granger and her kids like some kind of friend? She wasn't his friend. He barely tolerated her. And her children were charming, but one was a current pupil, the other a future nuisance. He could hardly cultivate an image as a terrifying disciplinarian if he sat across from his own students eating a pot roast. He was furious with himself for going along with the whole charade.

Mercifully, Rose and Hugo reappeared within a few minutes and Severus was able to bid them a quick goodbye, but not before Hugo elicited a promise to visit with him in the future (what the child think he was? A friendly uncle?). He bid Granger a cool farewell, deposited some galleons on the table, and apparated as soon as he exited the pub. He needed a stiff firewhiskey, and fast.

Hermione looked after him as he swept out of the pub. The man was a complete mystery. She looked down at the coins he had left on the table – more than enough to pay for all of them. She shook her head. He was such an odd mixture of manners and rudeness. Calculating how much she now owed him, she resolved to owl him his change later. As they made their way back to Muggle London and their car, Hermione listened to Hugo boast to Rose about how much Professor Snape liked _him_ and not her. She shook her head. Being liked by Severus Snape seemed to be a goal they all shared, but clearly some of them were doing better than others.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_Thank you for joining us for lunch last Thursday. Thank you also for your patience with Hugo – I know he can be exhausting! We all really enjoyed your company._

_It seems in your haste to return to the castle you overpaid your portion of the bill by quite a bit. Please find your change attached to this letter._

_I hope you are well, Sir._

_Yours, etc_

_Hermione_

He was surprised it had taken her a week to owl him. His lunch with her had been followed by a pretty heavy intake of firewhiskey, most of which had been consumed alone. In his haze he had realised – and explained to Longbottom – that Granger was like an itch you just couldn't scratch. It was as if she was located in some area of his back that his hands just couldn't reach, and just when he had realised ignoring her wasn't going to do him any good, and had given in and stretched and contorted himself to scratch it (her?), the itch had moved, still irritating and present, but somehow now to the left.

Neville had taken the whiskey away from him at that point, and probably with good reason. He had a horrible habit of descending into mixed metaphor and bizarre analogies while drunk.

"Why did you go to lunch with her then?" his young companion had asked. "If you dislike her so much, why did you agree to spend time with her?" Severus was too far gone to question the prodding tone in Longbottom's voice.

He paused, searching for an answer. There had to be a good reason, didn't there? The whiskey must have taken it from him, pushed it somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind. He hunted for a moment for a plausible explanation for why he had accompanied one of his most disliked former students to lunch, but could not find one.

"She invited me," was all he managed to come up with. The excuse hung limply in the air between the two men. Longbottom didn't comment, but did summon Winky to bring some tea and bread. With that, the long process of sobering-up had begun, with Severus no closer to forgetting the whole incident altogether, or finding a decent reason for it having happened in the first place.

And so when he letter arrived almost seven days later, Severus hadn't even had the energy to scowl at the envelope or the attached coins. Minerva had commented that Hermione Granger was writing to him again, and wasn't it nice that he was establishing a friendship with the girl after all these years, and wasn't it a shame that her and Ronald couldn't make their marriage work and did Severus think it likely that Hugo would be in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw? Severus made his excuses and gulped the last of his coffee down before departing the Great Hall in haste. Would there ever, ever be a day when Hermione Granger wasn't the number one topic up for discussion in his life?

His mood was foul, even for him. His second year students were punished as a result, with Rose Granger (Granger-Weasley, a familiar voice in his head corrected him) receiving the brunt of his sarcasm that morning. Her hurt eyes (did she think he was a family friend now? Good lord!) were eerily reminiscent of her mother.

He had the vague memory of seeing eyes so similar to those fill with tears many years previously, before the elder Miss Granger had grown into her looks. He had said something about her appearance – her teeth perhaps? – and those eyes had laid the full extent of their hurt upon him. He remembered feeling literally weak with the force of her sadness. Shaking the memories away, he took twenty points from Ravenclaw for Jeff William's abysmal headache potion and dismissed the class five minutes early.

It was shaping up to be a very bad day.

* * *

"Are you quite sure, Mildred?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. She knew Draco was watching her floo conversation from his desk. The prat had no respect for her privacy.

"Oh, yes Miss Granger! The paperwork is being drawn up as we speak!" The girl was positively bursting with pride and excitement. A less weary Hermione would have been happy for her.

"Well, congratulations Miss Muckridge. Thank you for informing me of your progress." Hermione hoped her voice didn't betray any bitterness. She really _was _pleased, she was just a little surprised that Mildred had managed to secure an amendment without her assistance.

"Of course, Miss Granger! But I was hoping that you might attend the signing of the amendment? The Minister for Magic will be there, and everyone knows you put so much work into it, and it would mean so much to me, and to the Centaurs, to have you there!"

Hermione contemplated making her excuses, but realised quickly that eyebrows would be raised if she wasn't present. After all, no one in the Department Magical Creatures took her new position seriously. Which was in itself a compliment, she reminded herself. She had achieved so much, so quickly, that her name would always be associated with the passage of the new Werewolf Act and the Code on House-Elf Welfare, and the crowning achievement of her thirties: the Magical Creatures Act. The same Magical Creatures Act that Mildred Muckridge had just amended after months of negotiations between the Ministry, Hogwarts and the Centaur population of the Forbidden Forest.

"When is the signing?" she asked, forcing a bright smile onto her face.

"It's this Friday, at noon. Can you be there?" Mildred seemed so young. Had Hermione ever been that enthusiastic?

"I will see what I can do." Hermione heard Draco snort from his desk. She knew she was being ridiculous.

"Oh, excellent! I'll see you at Hogwarts then!"

"Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, surprised, but Mildred had already severed the floo connection and was gone. "Why is the signing at Hogwarts?" she asked Draco, not allowing him to pretend he hadn't been listening to every last word of her conversation.

"Publicity, probably," Draco reasoned. "You know how the Ministry is." He paused for a moment. "Speaking of which, are you sure you're alright to go to this thing? You were in quite a snit talking to Muckridge. Wouldn't want you to hex the girl with the Daily Prophet watching."

Hermione just ignored him. She wasn't in the mood to be teased. She returned to her desk and tried to focus on her work, doing her very best to ignore her smirking colleague and the niggling voice in the back of her mind that told her she had no right to be jealous of Mildred Muckridge.

Yes, it was shaping up to be a very bad day.

* * *

_Miss Granger,_

_It is sad that you cannot recognise proper social etiquette when you see it. It was my intention to pay for lunch. _

_Your coins are attached. Never let it be said that Severus Snape allowed a divorcee to pay her own way. _

_S. Snape_

It was a strange mixture of humour and disdain and it did not sit well with her, particularly after the news from Mildred. Was it truly necessary for him to lay into her at every turn? She enjoyed their back-and-forth at lunch, and she had even found him unexpectedly understanding about her concerns for her children. In fact, was it not for the ever-present detail that he hated her, Hermione imagined she could grow to like him easily. But this _need_ he seemed to have to insult her upbringing, her (failed) marriage, her behaviour… it rankled at the part of her that was still trying, after twenty-seven years, a pivotal role in a major war and a successful career, to prove that she was a valid, valuable member of Wizarding society.

_Professor Snape,_

_What have I ever done_

She abandoned that note immediately; it would never do. She didn't need a list of her every fault and mistake, a list he would undoubtedly be more than happy to provide.

_Professor Snape,_

_I would appreciate your treating me with the same respect I extend to you._

Again, he would simply drag up every moment in the history of their acquaintance when she had shown anything other than complete, blind faith in him.

She threw her quill down in disgust. Just how _was _she supposed to deal with this man? She was completely at sea. If it had been Harry or Ron, she would simply have told them they were being prats, waited for them to apologise. If it had been a work colleague, there were hierarchies that would allow her to channel her complaints through the appropriate chain of command. If it were Draco, she would simply ignore him until the unpleasant behaviour stopped. But with Snape, none of those options was even remotely appealing. If she told him he was being a prat and stormed out, he would let her. There was no institutional support system remaining – she could hardly ask Professor McGonagall to petition him to be nicer to her. And ignoring him was simply out of the question. She couldn't imagine anything he would love more. She groaned and put her head in her hands. The man was exhausting.

_Professor Snape,_

_Your sense of etiquette appears to be a little dated, and another woman might be affronted by your __chauvinistic__ old-fashioned assumptions. That said, I will hold onto the coins you returned to me. I wouldn't dare offend your delicate sensibilities again. _

_H.G._

_

* * *

_

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace in Professor McGonagall's office, distracted by a comment Draco had made just as she'd left the office. What did he mean, enjoy your day with Severus? She was at the school to watch… Her train of that was interrupted by the sight of the man himself.

"Professor Snape!" she exclaimed, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"I would applaud your powers of facial recognition, Miss Granger, but it appears that you are late." He didn't have time to entertain her today. Her last owl had been equal parts humorous and irritating, and it had made him pause for a moment over his opinion of her. But today, with Minerva forcing him to represent the school in this ridiculous publicity stunt, and Granger responsible for the whole thing in the first place, he wasn't feeling particularly generous. "Follow me."

Hermione did as she was told. She could tell by his scowl that it was not a good time for questions. Professor McGonagall must have assigned him to the event in his role as Deputy Headmaster. She couldn't imagine him disliking anything more. It gave her pause – why _was_ he Deputy Head? Surely he hated every last task? Of course, she couldn't imagine anyone more qualified, but really, how did they ever manage to get him to agree to it? She let that question puzzle her all the way downstairs, out the entrance hall and down towards the Forbidden Forest. It wasn't until they entered the forest itself that Hermione found her voice.

"They're holding the signing _in _the forest?" she asked in horror.

"Evidently," was Snape's response. She rolled her eyes. They walked on in silence for a few more moments. "This wasn't your idea?" he asked.

"Absolutely not," she told him. "I can't imagine a worse location, frankly. Disturbing the forest just to get a few pictures in the Daily Prophet…" she trailed off as they reached the clearing where she, Harry and Ron had first met Aragog. "They can't be serious…" The entire clearing was filled with Ministry officials, members of the press, a few members of the Hogwarts staff, and three very irritated centaurs.

Severus was impressed by her disdain for the proceedings. He had always taken her for the showy, publicity seeking type, but she appeared just as horrified by this publicity stunt as he was. Of course, when he tried to remember how she had signed the original law into being, he couldn't, which he supposed was a testament to her common sense.

"Ah, Mrs Weasley!" Dirk Cresswall boomed, approaching them with a large grin. Severus couldn't believe his ears. He cast his eyes about quickly looking for the rotund form of Molly Weasley, but she was nowhere to be found. The buffoon was actually referring to Miss Granger, who had gone white as a ghost.

"Your husband must be very proud of you, dear," Creswell said. "This, after all, is all your doing! Very good indeed! Quite an achievement for a Muggleborn! And isn't this quite the event? I haven't been in these woods since I was at school! Not that I should be saying that in front of you, eh Snape?" Severus was ready to hit this man, very hard, between the eyes. He was saved by the arrival of Diggory and the young Muckridge girl (adequate potions student, Hufflepuff). Before Granger was escorted off by the three she shot him a look of – was that embarrassment? – and he felt a stab of sympathy for her. Those buffoons and their goddamn prejudices. If it wasn't the fact that the girl was Muggleborn, it was the fact that she had dared to upset their Victorian notions by seeking a divorce. It was pathetic, really, how they treated her, when she could wipe the floor with any of them in just about any contest. He was surprised that she didn't correct them about her name – he remembered her being very quick to correct him in the past.

The ceremony was mercifully quick and it didn't take Hermione long to realise that the forest hadn't been Mildred's preferred location. It was clear that Creswell was trying to drum up some publicity for himself as Head of the Department of Magical Creatures (he hadn't taken kindly to the department's renaming from "Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures" but it was the first provision of her Magical Creatures Act) and had latched on to Mildred's amendment as a photo opportunity. Within a few minutes of the signing taking place, all of the Ministry staff and the journalists had departed, leaving Hermione, Mildred, Victone and Firenze, and a smattering of Professors in the clearing.

Hermione congratulated Mildred sincerely, and chatted for a few minutes with Victone and Firenze. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Professor Snape preparing to the return to the castle and so she excused herself from her conversation with Victone and made her way to the professor.

"Do you mind if I accompany you back to the castle?" she asked.

"My permission has never mattered to you before, Miss Granger, so I'm not sure I can do anything to dissuade you." She paused at his words, which were harsh as always, but his tone was harmless. Was he joking with her? She couldn't decide but fell into step alongside him.

"That was nice and brief," she offered by way of casual conversation.

"Why didn't you correct Creswell when he called you Mrs Weasley?" he asked, ignoring her comment. "I seem to remember you being quite quick to correct me not too long ago. Not still pining after that idiot, are you?" It was the only explanation he could think of. Was she really still in love with Ron Weasley? He had remarried, as far as Severus knew, and it did nothing for his opinion of Miss Granger to imagine she might think that divorcing him, rather than marrying him, was a mistake.

"I've explained to them a hundred times that my name isn't Weasley anymore," she explained, staring at the forest floor. "They just call me that to get at me, you know? They don't approve." She sounded defeated.

"Fuck them," he said and Hermione stopped in her tracks and stared at him. He stopped walking and sighed with impatience. "Really, Granger, don't be such a prude. I'm taking your side." He resumed his path up to the castle, leaving Hermione staring after him for a few moments. It wasn't the first time she'd heard Professor Snape curse, but it certainly was the first time he'd ever taken her side on anything. Ever. She hurried after him.

"Thank you Sir," she said.

"No need to thank me," he replied, but she could tell he appreciated it. "I've hated those Ministry idiots since before you were born, girl. Don't take it personally."

"Well, thank you nonetheless."

He made a non-committal noise in his throat and kept walking. Really, why did she insist on taking everything to heart? He wasn't in the business of comforting insecure young women.

"And the reason I correct you, Sir, is that I actually care about what you think of me." Was she completely insane? What did she think she was playing at, saying something like that to him? She wanted to smack herself. She stole a glance in his direction, just waiting for him to bite her head off. But he said nothing.

He shouldn't have been surprised to hear that Miss Granger cared about his opinion. It was, he maintained, one of the most annoying things about her. But something about how she had said it, and maybe something about the fact that he was clearly going stark raving mad, made it not as unpleasant a thing to hear as he would have predicted. And also left him a little unsure of how to proceed. He was used to a Hermione Granger who disliked him, or a Hermione Granger who tried too hard, all of the time, to win his approval. But a Hermione Granger who would tell him, sincerely, that his opinion meant something to her, was a different creature altogether. She wasn't throwing her achievements in his face, or reminding him that she had spent years defending him to Potter and Weasley (not when it mattered). She was presenting him with her failures – as she saw them – and worrying what he thought of her. And he had no idea how to deal with her.

So he kept his mouth shut, and she – mercifully – did the same on the walk back to the castle. He escorted her – silently – to Minerva's office and watched her pick up some floo powder.

"It was a pleasure to see you again, Sir," she told him. He nodded. He felt like a fool. He never found himself without anything to say. Pithy comments and quick, cruel retorts were his speciality. But the girl had him tied in knots and he had nothing to offer her. "I hope to see you again soon." And with that bizarre final comment, she was gone in a cloud of ash and smoke. He stood staring after her for a moment. Why in the name of all that was sacred would she hope to see him again soon? What was she playing at?

"Was that Hermione Granger, Severus?" the familiar voice of Albus Dumbledore asked from his portrait. "She really has grown into an exceptionally beautiful woman!" he continued without waiting for a reply. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't have time for this," Severus replied, sweeping out of the office and slamming the door behind him. Dumbledore chortled to himself for a few minutes. Severus was so rarely frazzled by anything; it was wonderful to see him out of his element.

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I'm doing my best to keep the Severus / Hermione romance as realistic as possible without them having to wait until they're both well over 100 years old to get together. Please review and let me know what you think! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**A/N: Two updates in the one day! Lucky readers! **

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The next time Hermione saw Professor Snape was Professor McGonagall's birthday. The Headmistress didn't usually care for celebrating on October 5th, but it was her one hundredth birthday, a fact that Professor Dumbledore's portrait had let slip to Professor Flitwick earlier that year. Professor Flitwick had informed Neville and a surprise party had been planned at Grimmauld Place. Minerva McGonagall was a shrewd witch, however, and had discovered the plan a month in advance. She had accepted the proposed party with good spirits but suggested that the guest list be expanded to include all Order members, their friends and spouses, and whoever else felt like coming. Very quickly, the party escalated from a group of trusted colleagues and former students, to a fairly rowdy gathering of well over one hundred witches and wizards.

Hermione was drunk. She knew she was drunk, and to be honest, she wasn't sorry about it. Hugo was with a babysitter, Rose was at school, and this was the first party she had attended since Harry's in July. She was thirty-nine, not quite over the hill, and wearing a dress that Ginny had forced her into, saying it "did wonders" for her boobs. Hermione had to agree, of course, and the few drinks she had enjoyed at the Potters to calm her nerves (and stop her tugging at the hemline of the dress) had relaxed her quite a bit. The few drinks she had consumed while helping Neville hang streamers from the ceiling had pushed her well into the realm of tipsy, and the three glasses of spiked punch George and Ron had basically thrown at her had confirmed that she was, indeed, drunk. And happy about it, actually.

"So come on, Hermione, there has to be _someone_ here you fancy," Ginny said, pouring herself another gin and tonic. Ginny, Padma, Parvati, Luna and Hermione were in the kitchen having escaped a rather raucous rendition of "Don't Stop Believing" from Harry, Ron and George on the charmed karaoke machine. The conversation had, as always, turned to Hermione's love life. Ginny, Padma and Parvati were married and Luna was too vague to answer any interesting questions about sex or love (other than to confirm that yes, Neville was phenomenal in bed, a fact that Ginny swore she had always suspected).

"Ginnnnnyyy," Hermione whined, staring dubiously at the remnants of her fourth glass of punch. Had she really almost finished the glass? Already? She could have sworn she had only had one sip...

"Oh come on," Ginny protested. "Don't be boring. What about Draco? I assume he's here because _you_ invited him?"

That was true. Astoria was abroad (again) and Draco had been complaining that he had nothing to do for the weekend. He had asked her (for the millionth time) to go to the opera with him and she had panicked (she _hated_ the opera) and invited him to the party. He had been very reluctant until she had promised that Professor Snape would be there, and Neville, and Pansy Parkinson (now a close friend of Parvati's).

"Draco is..." Hermione paused. "He's..." She paused again.

"He's... what?" Padma asked, taking a sip of her champagne. "Drop-dead gorgeous? Clearly the best looking man here?"

"A total git?" Parvati offered and the five girls burst into giggles.

"I think he looks rather like a Norwegian Malibear," Luna said dreamily, only adding to the laughter.

Hermione raised her hand, still giggling herself, in an attempt to silence them.

"Draco is... well... he's not tall enough, for one. And I don't like blonds. Although he does have nice hands."

"Ok," Ginny said. "So no blonds, and you want someone tall. How about George?"

"Ginny!" Hermione was scandalised. "He's my brother-in-law!"

"_Former _brother-in-law," Parvati reminded her. "And he is pretty hot."

"No. No. He's like my brother. No." Hermione was adamant. "No. Sorry Gin, but no Weasleys. I'm done with Weasleys."

"Point taken."

"So you want someone tall, not blond, not a Weasley, with nice hands?" Padma asked.

"And... well..." Hermione paused. "Neville was saying..."

"Oh! What about Neville?" Parvati asked. "We already know he's great in bed, and he's tall..."

"And not blond!" Padma added triumphantly.

"No luck," Ginny interrupted. "I already tried to set them up, but neither of them was interested."

"Which is exactly what I was _trying_ to say," Hermione said. "Before I was interrupted." She shot Ginny a playful glare. "Neville thinks I need someone "challenging". Difficult. Like Draco, but not Draco."

Her four friends paused.

"That sounds about right," Ginny commented after a moment. "Well, who's left then?"

"Well, there's Seamus, Terry, Michael," Ginny shook her head at Hermione and mouthed "bad kisser", but Padma continued, "Tony Goldstein, Oliver, Zach..." she trailed off, trying to think who else was at the party, taller than Malfoy, and single.

"Professor Snape," Luna said evenly. Padma, Parvati and Ginny looked at her with their mouths open. Hermione looked at her wine glass and felt her cheeks redden, remembering how foolish she had been the last time she saw him.

"What?" Padma asked, incredulous. "You can't be serious? Why would Hermione date Snape? He's ancient, and besides, he's a complete..."

"He's right behind you, Miss Patil, and not above taking House Points from your children for their mother's drunken behaviour," the familiar voice of Severus Snape said from the doorway.

Four heads snapped around in horror, while Luna stood with a half-smile on her face.

"Now, if you _girls_ will excuse me, I was looking for Mr. Malfoy."

"He's in the library with Neville and Pansy," Hermione offered meekly. Her face was beetroot red and she couldn't meet his eyes.

Snape just nodded and swept from the room. As soon as he was out of sight, Ginny, Padma and Parvati burst into laughter and Hermione laid her head on the kitchen table and groaned. She had never been more mortified in her _life. _

"Can you believe that?" Ginny asked, tears streaming down her face from laughter. "Bloody Snape, eh? Always lurking in corners!"

"I can't believe he heard me!" Padma shook her head in disbelief. "I almost called him a git! Right to his face!" she shuddered at the thought. "Can you imagine him in relationship with _anyone_ though?" she asked.

Hermione just kept her head on the table. She was laughing and crying at the same time. It beggared belief that Snape would show up right in that moment, although of course, that was why Luna had mentioned him in the first place. She hadn't been suggesting him as a potential love interest, merely greeting him in her strange, distracted manner.

"Well..." Ginny began, and then paused. "It wouldn't be too much of a stretch would it? He was in love with Harry's mum for years, so he's obviously the romantic type. And he's taller than Malfoy, definitely not blond, and I happen to know Hermione thinks he has very sexy hands."

Hermione snapped her head up.

"I never said that." She had definitely never said that.

"Yes you did," Ginny told her. "You just don't remember."

"What do you mean? I remember everything!" She did! It was one of her greatest strengths!

"You were drunk... it was at my wedding, during Snape's trial. You were obsessed with him then."

Hermione could not believe her ears, but the more Ginny said, the more the whole night started coming back to her.

"All you could talk about was his trial, and whether he'd be found guilty, and how unfair it was that he was being held in Azkaban. Ron was furious with you for talking about him at the wedding and had stormed off. I think Harry accused you of fancying him, and so you sent him packing. You were pretty sloshed at that point, everyone was. But after you told Harry to sod off you said 'Severus Snape is the bravest man I know. And he has gorgeous hands.' And then you trotted off to the bar for another drink."

Hermione blinked at her, recognition dawning slowly. She didn't remember the exact conversation Ginny was recounting, but if she cast her mind back to the time of the trial, she did remember Ron and Harry accusing her of being "obsessed" with Professor Snape, and (a blush rose to her cheeks at the memory) there _had _been a two-week period when she had developed quite a crush on the man.

"That explains the chocolate frog card," she blurted out and four faces blinked back at her in confusion. "I saw my chocolate frog card checking out Professor Snape's card and I wondered what was going on. You're right Ginny, I _did_ have a crush on him. Years ago, though. I'd completely forgotten!"

Padma looked like she might be sick, but Parvati, Ginny and Luna nodded.

"You lot can't be serious?" Padma asked. "That's gross!"

"He does have wonderful hands," Parvati said.

"And he's so mysterious," Luna added. "Like his very own riddle to be figured out."

"And he's certainly a challenge," Ginny said, giving Hermione a significant look.

"This is disgusting. Don't listen to them, Hermione. They're drunk, and bonkers." Padma was adamant.

"Don't worry, Padma," Hermione said. "I was twenty-one, and he was a hero. The crush was over within two weeks, I promise. Now can we _please_ stop talking about my love life? I think we've embarrassed me enough for one night. I can never look at Professor Snape again, that's for sure."

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Severus hated events like these. He hated them even more now that he had walked in on Granger and her friends gossiping about him, and that blasted Patil girl suggesting he was _old_. He hated that he was sensitive about his age, but he was, and nearly every blasted wizard he went to school with was dead, so he did feel old, thank you very much and no, he didn't need to be reminded of it. When he had started at Hogwarts, he had been the youngest staff member. He had spent years in the company of older colleagues and friends – even Lucius and Narcissa were older than him. But now that Longbottom was on the staff, and Draco was the closest thing to family he had, he felt indescribably, horribly old. And to hear that Patil girl calling him _ancient... _It made his skin crawl.

He didn't dare think any more about the content of the conversation he had overheard in the kitchen. The last thing he needed was to concern himself with the mindless prattle of bored – and drunk – housewives.

He finally located Draco and Neville in the library and by the speed with which Longbottom handed him a glass of firewhiskey, he knew his scowl must be pretty impressive.

"Everything alright Severus?" Neville asked. Severus grunted at him. "Draco and I were just talking about the plants at Malfoy Manor. Apparently, the..."

"Good lord, Longbottom. You're not at work. No plants." Severus was surprised at his outburst. He must be almost drunk already. He hoped he hadn't been too cutting, but Neville and Draco both laughed and he relaxed.

"So what has your knickers in a twist?" Draco asked. Severus raised an eyebrow at him. He really was fond of his godson; he had proved to be much less arrogant and shallow than his father (which wasn't really saying much, as he was still arrogant and shallow). But he did despise that the boy took such liberties with him.

"You'd do well to remember that while I no longer have any professorial authority over you, Draco, I am your godfather and that position does grant me the right to give you a good kicking if I feel you deserve it." Wizarding law was archaic, but it did allow him to make plenty of empty threats.

Draco dropped the subject.

"Hermione's looking gorgeous," Neville offered as an alternative topic of conversation. Severus closed his eyes and counted to ten. What had he done to deserve this life?

"She is driving me insane." Severus was shocked to hear Draco speaking the very words he was thinking. "Astoria thinks I'm having an affair with her... Like I would be that lucky. I've asked her out about fifteen times now, and the best I get is an invite to a party with about three hundred other people. I guess I should take the hint."

"You, Malfoy, are a rake," Severus said.

"Oh, come on Severus," Draco responded. "You and I both know my wife is in Paris shagging some French bastard. What's so wrong with me trying to have my own fun?"

Severus wasn't going to answer that particular question.

"I doubt Hermione would be up for cheating with someone," Neville told him. "Even if she did fancy you." There was something in Longbottom's tone that put a sour taste in Severus's mouth. Did Granger actually have a thing for Draco? If anyone would know, it would be Neville, after all. He and Granger were thick as thieves (of potions ingredients).

"It's not cheating if my marriage is a joke, Longbottom," Draco said and Severus couldn't help feeling sorry for him. He had married too early. He and Astoria had only known each other a few months before the engagement. She was a beautiful woman, to be sure, but from the sound of it, a total raving lunatic.

"I doubt that's how Hermione would see it."

"_Why_ are we talking about her?" Severus asked, realising he sounded petulant, and hoping his companions were drunk enough to ignore it.

"Well, she's just about the best looking woman here," Draco replied. "And she's single."

Severus shook his head a little and Draco got on the defensive immediately. He always had been an aggressive drunk. Severus couldn't count the number of fights he had broken up in the Slytherin Common Room after Malfoy had gotten his hands on a bottle of Ogden's.

"Are you trying to tell me that you don't think Granger is hot?" he asked, sounding personally offended that Snape wasn't buying it.

"She's an irritating, hand-waving know-it-all. Her hair is utterly ridiculous and she's as plain as a pair of old boots," Severus retorted.

Draco and Neville just blinked at him.

"What?" he snapped. "It's true."

"Er... no, it isn't," Neville told him, his voice inappropriately serious. "Hermione's _gorgeous_ Severus." Draco was nodding in agreement. Severus couldn't believe his ears. Hermione Granger? Gorgeous? Granted, she had improved since her awkward schooldays, and she did have very nice hands (Merlin, he was _drunk_), but she wasn't anything special.

"We shall have to agree to disagree, Longbottom." He wasn't bothered arguing. "Now, if you will both excuse me."

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He wasn't sure where exactly he was going, but he needed to get out of that library and away from the _constant_ presence of Hermione Damned (Jean, he remembered) Granger in his life. Finding the hallway crowded, and not wanting to go anywhere near the kitchen, he made his way upstairs, glaring at the various couples he found on his way to the roof. Didn't these people have any dignity at all? They were all nearly forty, and some of them, like Flitwick were well over eighty.

He stepped out into the night air and felt the crisp October night hit him with a sobering wave. He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it the Muggle way, with a lighter he kept in the pocket of his jeans. _Jeans_. Another utterly insupportable element of his ridiculous event. Minerva had thought it would be positively wonderful and so much _fun_ for the younger people if everyone wore Muggle attire. Severus had no shortage of Muggle clothing, but he had absolutely no desire for anyone he worked with – or taught – to ever see him in anything but robes. But Minerva had insisted, and here he was in jeans, dragon-hide boots and a black shirt. Hardly intimidating. And with Draco taking liberties, and those stupid women gossiping about him in the kitchen, he resolved _never _to wear Muggle clothing in public again unless it was absolutely necessary.

Inhaling slowly he savoured the warmth of the tobacco in his mouth. Smoking was a relatively new habit, and one he hid from Longbottom. He didn't want the boy fussing over his health. He could be a right mother hen when he wanted to be. He walked over to the edge of the roof and looked out over suburban London.

It was a glorious night, and Severus was grateful that he could only hear the faint notes of what sounded like Ginny Weasley and the Patil twins singing "I Am Woman". He was just giving thanks for his solitude when he heard the door to the roof opening. It was a woman, he knew, from the heels, and she was drunk, he surmised based on the irregularity of her footsteps. He hoped she wouldn't notice him, but it was not his lucky night as whoever she was, she was approaching him.

He turned to identify, and hopefully scare away, his rooftop companion.

"Oh! Professor Snape!" Her voice rattled through him like nails on a blackboard.

It was Granger. Of course.

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**A/N: When I started writing this chapter, I worried that a party was too obvious and easy a set up. But then I remembered that in real life, it usually takes a few drinks, and the prodding of friends, to make us realise what's really going on, or consider new options. And besides, I wanted to put Snape in a pair of jeans.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**A/N: This chapter was almost impossible to write. These two are just so stubborn!**

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"Very astute, Miss Granger, and actually impressive given how drunk you appear to be." She was wearing a very short, cream dress and a pair of very high, red shoes. Had she been this inappropriately dressed in the kitchen? He couldn't remember.

"You're drunk, too," she retorted. Good lord, was she pouting at him?

"And what gives you that impression?" he asked.

She was only about three feet from him now. He could smell a blend of freesia, rose and jasmine that must be her perfume.

"Well, Sir..." she paused, steadying her feet. She appeared determined to join him on the roof's edge. Given her current state of inebriation, it was a terrible idea. He stepped back from the edge until he was level with her. "Youonly _threatened _to take points from Padma's daughter..." He wondered if she couldn't remember the girl's name either; he sure as hell could not, and the girl was in his class. "And you didn't slam the door on your way out of the kitchen."

It was a ridiculous argument, riddled with assumptions about his behaviour, and yet somehow arriving at the correct conclusion. It irked him.

"You are a nuisance, Granger," he muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"You smoke!" she exclaimed, almost knocking the damned thing from his hand when she pointed at him. She couldn't believe it! Since when did he smoke? It was only when she realised that Severus Snape was _smoking_, that she realised that Severus Snape was wearing _jeans_. It was the first time she'd seen him without robes on and it was... bizarre.

"Your powers of observation are exceptional as always."

"Does Neville know about this?" she teased, wagging her finger at him. There was something about the sight of him in Muggle clothing that made her relax around him. Her usual tongue-tied persona was gone.

Severus was perplexed. How much had she had to drink? She was slight enough, so he supposed it wouldn't take much to get her totally pissed.

"He does not."

"He wouldn't be happy, you know." Hermione was far too drunk to censor her own behaviour.

"He's not my Carer."

"He's your friend." There was something in her voice that sounded... petulant. He didn't respond, flicking his gaze back towards the door to the house, wondering if there was a quiet spot inside he could find now that she had claimed the roof. "Why is _he _your friend?"

What was the girl implying?

"Longbottom knows when to shut up, Miss Granger," he told her. "A talent you have yet to acquire."

She laughed then, a short, genuine laugh. He had heard her laugh before. He must have. But if he'd been asked, he would have said her laugh was one of those grating, irritating laughs. But it wasn't, not at all.

"You're very funny, did you know that?" she asked. "Of course you do. I'm sure you amuse yourself to no end."

She thought he was funny. He, of course, _knew_ he was funny. But something about the fact that _she _found him funny was inappropriately pleasing. She was really starting to annoy him. First, her comment about caring about his opinion of her, and now this. Was she just trying to keep him on edge? He didn't care for it. If he wanted to be kept on edge he'd go reincarnate Voldemort. Being on edge was not something he enjoyed, and certainly not something he sought from Hermione Granger.

"Are you always like this when you're drunk?" he asked scornfully.

She paused and tilted her head to the side to think about it. He couldn't help but look at her. Her hair was all to one side, and the light of the moon caught the exposed side of her neck, the paleness of her skin appearing almost translucent. He was about to look away – this was all Longbottom's fault – when she bit her lip in concentration. She was wearing make-up, he noticed. Her lips were a dark red. Had she always had full lips?

"I don't think so," she replied and he nearly dropped his cigarette. Was she reading his mind? Had he asked the question about her lips out loud? Impossible! "Mostly I'm just sad when I'm drunk," she continued. "But not tonight." She finished with a smile. Two rows of perfect, white teeth flashed at him for a moment and then disappeared behind those dark red lips.

He didn't want to talk to her any more. She was drunk, and out of line, and what did she think she was doing, talking to him like this on a roof in the middle of the night? He finished his cigarette.

"If you'll excuse me, Miss Granger..." he made to brush past her but the damned girl reached out and grabbed his arm.

"No." Her grip on his arm was gentle but urgent. "I mean... I won't excuse you."

He just stared at her. The moon was glinting on her hair now, shades of gold and red.

"Will you just... talk to me?"

"Miss Granger, you are drunk. Unhand me." He didn't have time for this.

"Yes, I'm drunk. But so are you. And I want..." her sentence hung in the air between them, her hand still on his arm. She had wanted to say "to talk to you" but standing next to him, with the alcohol rushing through her, with his arm unexpectedly muscular underneath her hand, and with her conversation with Ginny and the girls fresh in her mind, she wasn't sure what she wanted. He was staring at her with a mixture of impatience and confusion and she needed to say _something_. "I want to talk to you."

He rolled his eyes. Bloody Hermione Granger and her bloody Gryffindor sentiments and her bloody hand on his arm. Her hands were small and thin. He remembered them chopping asphodel in the classroom; short, precise strokes. She had been an adequate potions student with no real aptitude for the subject beyond her exceptionally high intelligence, but he had always been impressed by the unyielding precision with which she chopped ingredients.

"You want to _talk_ to me," he repeated, injecting the sentence with as much venom as he could muster. He wanted her to know how foolish she sounded.

"Yes. I do." She held her ground and her hand kept applying its warm, soft pressure to his arm. It was, he realised, the first time she had ever touched him.

He relented. A conversation with a drunk Hermione Granger was probably better than whatever awaited him back at the party. He nodded slightly and she _finally_ released his arm.

Silence settled between them for a moment. Severus lit another cigarette. Hermione stood awkwardly next to him, still within reaching distance. She couldn't think of a single thing to say. When he had tried to leave her mind had filled with questions for him, all of which had disappeared the moment he had agreed to stay.

Eager to do _something_ she conjured two chairs and sat down in one, eager to take some weight off her feet. Her shoes were murdering her. Professor Snape looked at his chair with suspicion, but sat next to her without a word. His cigarette smoke was strangely calming.

"I read an article about blood-replenishing potions last..." she began.

"Absolutely not."

"Excuse me?" she was taken aback. Was he suggesting she _hadn't_ read the article?

"I refuse to converse with you about advances in the field of potions, Miss Granger," he told her. "You are not qualified to pontificate on the matter, and I have no inclination to speak about my work." He didn't care to be a hypocrite, anyway, after telling Longbottom off in the library for going on about plants.

Well, that was that. Lord, he could be so rude. It got under her skin.

"Well then what _do _you want to talk about?" she demanded, glaring at him. It wasn't like her to be so bold with him, but hell, he was wearing jeans and she was in a dress that made her feel like she was twenty-five again.

"Nothing whatsoever. I hate to cast aspersions on your memory Miss Granger, but it was you who so badly wanted to _talk._" She was insufferable. Utterly and completely insufferable.

"Why don't you like me?" she asked after a beat. "I'm perfectly nice to you, and I'm intelligent – don't both arguing, I am – and I'm not a child any more, far from it. What don't you like me?"

It was the kind of speech that was only made possible by alcohol. That was the funny thing about life, she knew. You walked around every day with thoughts in your head but you didn't dare _say _them. But then, whenever you were drunk, out they came. Some of her worst arguments with Ron had been after he'd had a few too many beers with Harry, and some of her best conversations with Ginny had been made possible by a few too many glasses of wine. And now, here she was on a roof with Severus Snape, who was only here himself because he was drunk, and she was asking him the kind of question she had promised herself she would never ask.

"I don't dislike you, Miss Granger." It was a lie, of course, but it was easier than indulging her.

"That's not what I asked. I asked why you don't _like_ me."

She was persistent. A few years ago he would have called her insufferable. But she _had_ grown up, even if the alcohol tonight was making her behave like a seventeen year old. But then, that was inaccurate too. At seventeen she was off hunting horcruxes, not lying on roofs in short dresses.

If he didn't like her it was because she thought she was perfect. Outstanding grades, famous friends and a not insignificant role in winning a major war while still in her teens did not perfection make. She had her flaws. She was grating and precocious and she was _everywhere_. She was naive and saw the best in everyone, and thought that trait made her practically a saint. She always thought she was the smartest person in the room. Her paralysing fear of failure kept her from ever really excelling, especially in more creative areas like potions. She insisted on wasting her brain as a glorified _solicitor_ rather than entering academia or research where she could actually change things. She was self-righteous and overly protective of her children.

And then there was the fact that she had married Ron Weasley of all people, demonstrating absolutely no sense of her own worth.

"Come on, I want to know," she said. He looked at her. She was looking at the sky and her expression, for the first time, was unreadable. He fixed his gaze on the horizon again.

"Did it ever occur to you, Miss Granger, that I simply refuse to pander to your every whim like every other individual in our acquaintance? That while everyone is showering you with praise and their favour, you simply have failed to earn mine?" He was tired of her. For nineteen years, he had been free of her. Her name appeared in the Daily Prophet, and once or twice he had discovered her chocolate frog card among his student's confiscated materials (she was very popular with the shy Ravenclaw boys). But she had been wonderfully, mercifully _gone_ from his life, her and Potter and Weasley. For seven years his whole world had revolved around keeping Potter – and by extension her – safe. And then, in an instant, it was over. She was gone. But now? She was _everywhere. _Neville talked about her constantly, Draco fancied himself in love with her. Her child was in his damned classroom, blinking up at him nervously in the same way she had done for all of those years. It was insufferable.

"You're wrong," she told him. "My life isn't half as easy as you make it out to be." He was about to interrupt with some sarcastic pity, when she continued, her voice unexpectedly raw. "I work so hard, every day, and my boss still calls me "Weasley". Half of my colleagues won't even speak to me since I left Ron. _Eight years, _Professor. And Ron's remarried, which is fine, but I'm..." she laughed mirthlessly. "I'm sorry, Sir. You don't need to hear this."

"No, Miss Granger, I don't." She was at her worst when she was sad. Her face took on that same desolate look she had worn when he had insulted her teeth all those years ago. He suddenly couldn't take any more of her. She was too much to deal with, her life wrapping itself around him as it was. She wanted him to like her, to see past the persona he had built around her. And he knew his image of her was false. He knew that she was as intelligent and gifted as Minerva insisted. He knew she was as loyal and brave as Hagrid bragged. He even knew that Draco and Neville weren't exaggerating when they said she was beautiful. But he had no interest in the Hermione Granger everyone wanted him to see. He was perfectly happy hating the fifteen year-old Hermione Granger waving her hand in his class, defending him half-heartedly to her friends and making his life miserable with every foolish decision she made.

He stood to leave. Her eyes met his. He hated her eyes.

"Goodnight Miss Granger," he said and she nodded a little, as if she understood, but the part of him that had once cared about what other people thought of him knew what she was thinking. She felt rejected by him; felt that she wasn't good enough. He tried to stop himself, tried to propel his feet onwards toward the door but he couldn't, not until he looked at her again and said – "You have very nice teeth."

And he fled.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**A/N: The second-shortest chapter in the whole story, but it need to happen. Be patient with them, a mutual attraction is not going to be an easy conclusion for either of them to reach.

* * *

**

Of all the stupid, unnecessary, bloody _senseless_ things to say. "You have very nice teeth." What the hell was _wrong_ with him? He was drunk, that was for sure, but he had had his fair share of alcohol in his life and managed not to say something as foolish as that. And to think he had said it out of _empathy_. He wondered if he was dying. Maybe some mysterious disease was killing him from the inside out, addling his brain and subconsciously forcing him to make amends before the end. He couldn't help but think that was the best possible explanation for what had happened.

He had made a quick exit from the party after his bout of insanity on the roof. Longbottom had appeared at his door an hour after he had returned to the castle, wanting to check he had made it home unscathed. Honestly, it was like Albus all over again, lurking over his shoulder.

"Why did you leave so early?" Longbottom asked, making himself comfortable on Severus's sofa. What was wrong with everyone? He had spent most of his life in blissful, self-imposed solitude and the rest of the world had seemed content to leave him that way. But then Longbottom had made it is his mission to befriend him and everyone seemed to believe he was a soft-touch now. Potter _visited_ him once a year. He brought biscuits and ordered some tea from the house elves and the two of them sat and had a chat. Or, the closest thing to a chat that could be had between them. And now Granger and her insatiable need to irritate him. It was excruciating.

"I had no inclination to stay," he replied tersely. It was hardly his habit to make the most of these social gatherings, was it? He shouldn't need to defend his absence to anyone. It should be expected.

"Did it have anything to do with Hermione?" Longbottom was drunk. It was the only explanation for this line of questioning. Usually the boy had the sense not to pry into matters that did not concern him.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Longbottom," Severus told him sternly.

"You were talking to her, on the roof. Draco followed her upstairs but she was with you, so he left it." Neville eyed the Potions Master shrewdly. His friend was a master of evasion but there was something going on that Neville couldn't quite figure out.

Damn and blast. Now he would have to deal with Malfoy as well.

"Miss Granger chose to impose herself on me," Severus explained evenly. "She wanted to _talk_."

"About what?" Neville knew Hermione had no shortage of conversation topics on which she was an expert, and Snape was clearly just as intelligent and well-read as she was, but they were hardly confidants.

"Damned if I know." It was his first really honest response. What _had_ Granger wanted from him?

"Is something going on with you and her?" Neville asked suddenly. His question was met with a stony glare. "It's just... you went for lunch with her a few weeks back, and you owl her regularly and now..."

The very suggestion of _any_ genre of relationship between him and Miss Granger destroyed any tolerance Severus might have had for Neville's questioning.

"That's enough Longbottom," he snapped. "You're drunk. Go back to your rooms."

Severus swept from the living room into what Neville presumed was his bedroom and left the younger man to stare at the dying fire. Something was going on. Severus was an impatient man and it wasn't uncommon for him to grow tired of anything he saw as an imposition on his privacy or way of life. But he had seemed to tolerate – if begrudgingly – Hermione's presence in his life. And really, Neville mused, it wasn't the most unusual of pairings. He had already told Hermione that she needed someone challenging, and Severus was nothing if not a challenge. But could Severus have feelings for her? She was beautiful, intelligent and loyal. Any man would be lucky to have her. But Severus wasn't just any man. He was a grumpy, isolated man with no concept of his own worth who had spent most of his life in love with a dead woman who, in Neville's opinion, had treated him like rubbish when she was alive.

He shook his head. If it was true and there was something going on, he didn't know whether to be happy or sad. In some ways, he should be thrilled. They were two of his closest friends, two people he cared about deeply who deserved to be happy. But they were the perfect example of a relationship that would either be the best thing that ever happened to either of them, or a complete disaster.

* * *

Hermione woke in Harry's guest bedroom with a splitting headache. She opened her eyes a fraction to check the time (ten) and shut them immediately when the brightness sent a roaring pain through her skull. She counted to ten. She had to get up. She was due to collect Hugo at noon, and she had to clean the house today or she would never get it done, and...

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Oh my God."

She had trapped Professor Snape on a roof and forced him to talk to her. She had asked him why he didn't _like_ her.

She had basically told him her life was hard because sometimes people held her past against her, and from time to time she was lonely.

She had told Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater and former spy, who had risked his life and practically died for the love of a woman who had married a man who had tormented him, that she was underappreciated and alone.

She buried her head into her pillow. She was never drinking again.

* * *

Several hundred miles away in Scotland, Severus Snape awoke with much the same resolve against alcohol. His head was throbbing and he had forgotten to brew a hangover potion before he had left the night before. More troubling, however, was the dream clinging to the corners of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes to block out the damned sun, images of Hermione Granger's legs, lips and neck assaulted him. This was all Longbottom's fault. Of all the stupid, ill-informed and downright offensive things to suggest!

Just because the woman owled him occasionally about academic matters, and just because he had joined her and her children for _one _ill-advised lunch, did not mean he was her friend. And just because he had spent a few minutes chatting to her on a roof rather than enduring the karaoke stylings of Ron Weasley did not mean he enjoyed spending time with her.

And most importantly of all, he told himself, just because he had _one_ inappropriate dream about her did not mean he found her attractive. All it meant was that Longbottom needed to keep his meddling nose out of other people's business, and Severus needed to do his best to ensure he never saw Miss Granger again.

* * *

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad, Hermione," Harry assured her over brunch. "You were drunk, and by the looks of him, Snape was too. I doubt he even remembers."

Hermione stared at her tea. She was inconsolable.

"What were you doing on the roof with him anyway?" Ginny asked suggestively. Luckily her tone went right over Harry's head.

"I needed some fresh air so I went up... He was up there having a smoke."

"He smokes?" Ginny asked. "That's a surprise."

"He was wearing jeans, Ginny. It wasn't exactly your average Saturday with Professor Snape." It wasn't exactly your average Saturday with Hermione Granger, either, she mused. She had _touched_ him, she remembered. And if her memory served her well, she had held onto his arm for rather longer than was necessary.

"I think he's lightened up," Harry commented. "He didn't even scowl at me when he shook my hand."

"He hasn't lightened up too much," Hermione said with a sigh. "At least not where I'm concerned."

"Well, what's it to you?" Harry asked through a mouthful of cereal. "How often do you see him? Once or twice a year?"

Hermione busied herself buttering some toast and pretended Harry's question was rhetorical. She could see Ginny watching her through narrowed eyes but she wasn't going to acknowledge her.

"What age is he?" Ginny asked. Hermione doubled her efforts not to look at her former sister-in-law. She wasn't getting dragged into this conversation again, especially not in front of Harry. Especially not about a man she was never going to be able to look in the eye again.

"Fifty-two," Harry told her, without missing a beat. "Same as..." There was no name left to say. No Remus, no Sirius, no Lily and James. Hermione had never thought about it that way before. Everyone he had grown up with was dead, weren't they? Not just the Marauders and Lily, but Neville's parents too, and the Malfoys, even Bellatrix and Regulus Black. No wonder he was a miserable git.

"He doesn't look fifty, does he?" Ginny mused, quick to stop Harry from thinking too much about all of the friends and family he had lost. "If I hadn't known he'd been teaching forever, I would have guessed forty-five."

Harry thought about it for a minute and nodded in agreement. Hermione just kept buttering her toast. She was mortified. Alcohol was the devil, and she was an idiot.

"He looks well," Harry said. "I'm glad. He healed up well after Nagini's bite."

"He's taking care of himself," Ginny said. "Didn't you notice? His hair is better now, and his teeth aren't..."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, interrupting her friend. Harry and Ginny looked at her in confusion, eager for an explanation. "I... er... just noticed the time. Sorry. Continue." It was a weak effort but she wasn't ready to share that particular memory with the group. She wasn't even sure that she hadn't dreamed it.

"...his teeth aren't yellow anymore," Ginny finished, flashing Hermione a suspicious look. Hermione pretended not to notice. Ginny was right, though. Professor Snape was looking _well._ It wasn't just the jeans (_jeans!_). He was... different. Luna had called him mysterious, and she was right. There was something of the dark, brooding figure about him these days that she hadn't noticed until now. Not that she fancied him, she assured herself. It was just an observation.

"I'd imagine he has more time for personal grooming now that he's not a double-agent," Harry joked grabbing two more slices of toast.

"Having more time never made you more likely to take care of yourself," Ginny teased. "Maybe you should take a leaf out of Snape's book and comb your hair once in a while."

"I never thought I'd hear those words," Harry replied with a grin.

A few minutes later, Hermione made her excuses and floo'd to Grimmauld Place to pick up her car. It wasn't until she was safely ensconced behind the wheel and she was sure no one was around that she allowed herself to revisit the bizarre memory that had plagued her over breakfast.

Had Professor Snape really said he liked her teeth?

* * *

**A/N: Gently, gently. They'll get there eventually. But - as Harry reminds us - how often do they see each other? I think one of them (or maybe a meddling friend) is going to have to contrive a reason for them to meet again. **


End file.
